


Kill me kiss me

by ValentineRunaway



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, Bloody Kisses, Human!Connor, M/M, Masturbation, Murder, Obsession, One-Sided Attraction, Smut, Stalker!AU, Stalking, Yandere, hah i dont like this story but i finished it anyway so take it as it is, hank sometimes wears glasses, kinda dubcon, references to the game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-05-26 22:16:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 31,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15010610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValentineRunaway/pseuds/ValentineRunaway
Summary: Connor never has shown feelings in his life, making him believe that he was emotionless like a robot. Until one day, he bumps into a strange man that completely steals his heart. Connor can't help but become obsessed.--Inspired by this playlist ; https://8tracks.com/jncnicole/hannor-mineCreated by everything-hannor on Tumblr





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Every breath you take  
> Every move you make  
> Every bond you break  
> Every step you take  
> I'll be watching you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor feels something completely new when he bumps into a stranger.

Connor wasn't like the other humans around him. He didn't really feel like a human in the first place. Ever since he was a little kid, Connor had been that one creepy boy who played by himself. As a baby, he barely cried. As a child, he barely laughed. As a teenager, he barely talked. And now, as an adult in his early 30's, he barely felt anything at all. Connor had come to believe that he wasn't like the others, that he was some kind of a monster who lacked empathy. 

There had been many times when people had called him names. 'Monster', 'vampire', 'freak', 'robot', 'zombie' ... the list goes on and on. But everyone knew that Connor was an outcast just by looking at him. Pale skin, messy brown hair with a few strands falling over his forehead, piercing dead cold eyes and dark bags under his eyes. The way he acted was also something that drew people away from him. He moved like a robot, if he ever even moved, and he only answered in short replies or stayed silent completely. The only thing that seemed to make him human was the way his fingers moved. Connor couldn't keep them still - whether his hands were rubbing against each other, or his fingers were tapping against something or playing with a coin, they were always on the move. Some people tapped their foot against the floor, Connor played with his fingers. 

Connor didn't really have friends, or much of his family left. His parents had passed away a few years ago and he was the only child. He had never had friends. As a kid, he was picked on for being quiet and calm, and the older he grew, the more he got bullied. And the more he fell deeper into his own world. Connor didn't care. He found human interaction useless anyway. He couldn't understand why some people needed to surround themselves with people who would eventually stab you in the back, when you could just be by yourself, safe from all the unnecessary drama. 

Connor disliked humans. Always too loud, trying to pretend that everything was good and well and that the planet was not about to explode under their feet. Connor saw no reason to build relationships with anyone, nor did he want to waste his time by getting to know someone.

Until he met him.

 

 

It was a normal Tuesday during October. 16:37 PM, slightly windy, small amount of rain, no sun, just grey clouds taking over the sky. Colored leaves were sticky against the tarmac, few small ponds of water there and there. People hiding under umbrellas and behind thick scarves, noses red like fire. The rain season had protracted for weeks now, and everyone was complaining about it, hoping for the winder to come sooner or for the summer to come back. Connor didn't mind rain. It was actually something he enjoyed, being one of the only things he could say he liked. Rain felt almost relaxing in his skin and he walked under the waterfall without caring how soaking wet he would be. Maybe he was trying to get a fever intentionally so he would get sick and feel something else than this weird emptiness that crawled on his back. 

Connor is walking on the street, hands deep in his brown leather jacket's pockets, head buried deep under a black beanie. The rain is slightly making him wet, but sadly it's not pouring completely yet, and Connor decides to take a detour to hopefully get a chance to see some lighting flash over the sky and hear the rumble of the thunder. 

He's heading home, taking as long as possible to get to his destination. He didn't like being at home, because there was not much to do. Not like he had much to do anywhere else, expect at his job where he just went through all kinds of files.

Connor is deep in his thought, walking straight without bothering to move out of the way for anyone who was trying to pass him. Luckily, everyone always turned away from him so they wouldn't walk into each other. But for the first time in his life, somebody else also refused to move out of the way first. 

 

Connor wasn't really watching where he was going. His eyes were glued to the floor when suddenly he bumped onto someone. The crash was so hard that Connor almost fell back on his bottom, but luckily he caught his balance and only took a few wobbly steps backwards. The man he had bumped into muttered something and then looked at him straight into his eyes. He looked angry, his fists clenched tightly together and teeth gritting against each other.

"Watch out, fucker", the man muttered and gives Connor one last look before he walks past him.

Everything seems to move in slow motion. Connor just watches with wide eyes as the man moves past him, continuing his own way. 

Connor inspects everything he can in two and a half seconds he and the stranger are in contact. The man is somewhere in his 50s and already has grown a fully-grown beard and grey hair that almost reaches his shoulders. He looks angry like it was a mask he was always wearing. His nose was large and slightly pointy, his lips slightly chapped and his eyes looked tired. He reeked of alcohol, which was a sign of alcoholism, because what kind of a decent person got wasted at this time of day. 

It all happens in quick seconds but for Connor, it all lasts for a lifetime. Suddenly, he feels something aching in his chest. The bottom of his stomach is suddenly fluttering, legs suddenly shaking and cheeks burning. He can feel his heart pounding against his chest like a drum, blood flowing everywhere in his body. Everything turns silent in his ears, and everything turns brighter in his eyes.

For the first time in his life, Connor feels something. And he wants more of that feeling.

 

 

The two of them walking into each other was involuntary, but it had ended up being destiny. Connor was obsessed immediately. Even when the man had already walked past him and continued his way, Connor could not help but stare at him, inspecting his backside and how his coat and hair moved along with the wind. Connor stayed still, eyes focused on him until the man turned around and disappeared behind the corner. 

Connor couldn't quite understand why, but he started heading towards the same direction. 

He didn't care if his way home would be protracted once again. Something inside him told him to do this, a voice inside his head yelling 'follow him'. And he did. Connor started sprinting after the man, turning left from the corner and almost running so he could catch up to him. He then slowed down when he had a good distance on him, and Connor just followed the man silently. His eyes pierced on the backside of the man, as Connor follows him like a spy. His hands deep in his pockets, head hanging low, every step careful and silent as possible. A few times, the man he was following stopped for whatever reason and Connor always stopped too, either pretending he was leaning against a wall and having a smoke, or just turning his back and pretending he was in a middle of a phone call. And when the man continued his way, Connor did too.

He followed the man for several minutes, until he realized that he had ended up on a subway and he decided to stay outside and just watch the man disappear inside the building. He stayed outside in the rain that had calmed down a little, just thinking what just happened. Connor moves his hand over his chest and grabs tightly onto his jacket. His heart just couldn't stop pounding so hard against his chest. Connor could almost hear that muscle pumping blood into his veins.

He smiles.

 

Connor turns around and he just knows that he will meet this man again.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor is lucky enough to find the man of his dreams again, and he ends up following him.

Connor can't stop thinking about that man. He doesn't understand why, but he also doesn't care. His body feels alive for the very first time. He is sweating and freezing at the same time, and it felt like his whole body was breaking down from the excitement. He has the want and need to see that mysterious man again. He can't explain why. But Connor wants to see him again. He wants to hear him again. He wants to feel him again.

Connor is rolling around in his bed, curled up into a ball, hands grabbing his hair and toes curling. He wants more. He wants to see this man again so badly that he is crying. He has never cried before. Connor just knows it's a sign. 

A sign that he must see this man again.

 

\--

 

 

The next day after he was done with work, Connor goes home the same way as yesterday. He walks slowly, looking around all the time just so he could catch a glimpse of this mysterious man again. Sometimes, he even decides to stop and just waits for the man. An hour passes by without him even realizing it. Connor has almost walked all the way home, but he turns around and starts heading back to work the same way he came from. Connor finds himself panicked, which is also a completely new feeling. He is crazily looking around, trying to see where this man was. He felt like he was going to die if Connor wouldn't be able to find him.

He walks past the coffee shop, quickly peeking inside before continuing his way. But then he stops. Connor slowly turns around and looks inside the cafe through the glass. And there he is. Finally. 

That man, that mysterious charming man that had yelled right into his face, was sitting by one of the tables. He was reading the newspaper, the kind that was made out of paper, and he was sipping slowly from his coffee mug. This man looked like he was in deep thought, reading in his peaceful space. Connor inspected him carefully. The man was wearing the same clothes as yesterday, expect his shirt seems to have changed. He was wearing a shirt that was colored crazily in dark blue, orange and green, and the pattern of it was so over the place that Connor couldn't really tell what it was supposed to be. Connor's new crush was wearing black glasses over his nose and Connor swore that he had never seen anything so beautiful. 

Without even realizing, Connor is reaching into his pocket and he takes out his phone. He opens the camera app with shaking fingers, moves the phone up and takes a picture. 

 

 

_Click_

 

 

He takes another one. And another one. He keeps pressing the button until he has at least one good picture of the man before he finally buries the phone back into his pocket and looks back at the man. So far, no one seems to have noticed him. Connor looks around and decides to walk away from the display window, and he ends up leaning against the wall by the store door, too afraid to go inside. Connor quickly looks at his album and sees 23 new photos. He buries the phone back into his pocket and takes his time to catch his breath.

He feels like he is going crazy. His body feels weak, legs trembling so hard his knees were knocking against each other. His face is pale, much paler than before. And god, his heart. Connor's heart could not stop pounding against his chest. Such erratic emotions.

 

 

It takes exactly 16 minutes and 24 seconds until the man gets out of the cafe and continues his way, heading once again towards the subway station. This time, Connor follows him all the way inside. He doesn't bother buying a ticket, but jumps in anyway. The place is crowded, but Connor never leaves the man out of his sight. Who could not recognize that beauty? The grey hair swinging around, his beautiful form walking with such confidence, even if his posture was lunged down. 

The man steps inside a subway train, and Connor does the same, expect he enters from a different door. He sits down on one of the red chairs and watches from afar as the man sits down and starts going through his phone. The train starts moving. It's going fast, the cart is completely silent, everyone is minding their own business. Connor is tempted to take more pictures, but decides to not draw any attention towards himself. Instead, he just watches.

Connor's new crush seems to be having a hard time with his phone. He is tapping on the buttons slowly, angry look on his face, and sometimes he draws his hand away like he has made a mistake. Connor smiles. He imagines teaching this man how to use his own phone someday.

Not like that is ever going to happen.

 

 

Finally, the man stands up and leaves the subway, and Connor follows him. They leave the cart, walk up the stairs, past some stores, then finally, outside. Connor is almost ready to give up - he sees the man walk across the parking lot, and he knows that if the man does have a car, Connor could no longer follow him. He waits behind someone's car, silently watching, but the man never stops. Instead, he just keeps walking.

Connor goes after him.

 

 

He follows him like a shadow, never showing himself, always moving behind something whenever the man turned to look behind him. It was like he had a feeling someone was after him. It takes only 20 minutes or so when the man turns towards a front yard and goes to the front door. He takes out his key from his right pocket, unlocks the door and steps inside. Connor swallows heavily, hiding behind some fence and he stays there for minutes, before he finally steps over the grass.

His heart is pounding crazily as he slowly moves towards the house, eyes on the windows at all times. And soon, he finds himself pressing against the wooden wall, completely out of breath like he was having an attack. It takes Connor two more minutes, before he is able to peek through the window.

He sees a kitchen in front of him. Table full of empty pizza boxes, Chinese takeout, crushed beer cans. Otherwise, the place seemed clean and quite normal looking. He can see all the way to the living room. Connor's crush is sitting on the sofa, watching the TV, the back of his head faced to him. Football match is moving on the screen. The place looks cozy. The man's hand is moving, like he is petting something - or someone -, and Connor fears for the worst. Does the man already have someone special?

Connor clenches his hands into tight fists and grunts, and suddenly, something pops its head up from the sofa. It's furry and hairy and it has a tongue hanging out from its mouth. It's ... a dog. A very big, giant dog that is looking at Connor.

Connor just watches the dog silently, never breaking the eye contact. Then, he sees the man look over at his dog, and suddenly, the man looks at Connor's direction.

Connor falls down as quickly as he can, hand moving over his mouth, his heart beating so strongly against his chest that he swears he is having a heart attack. And without even realizing, Connor is running for his life. He runs out of the yard, past all the shops and stores and the people he had to push away. He doesn't bother waiting for the light to change to green and he is almost hit by a car. Connor doesn't stop running until he is all the way back on the subway station, falling down onto his knees to catch air into his lungs.

 

He felt so weak. So, so weak. Muscles aching, sweat over his body, his suit sticky against his skin. The thrill made his stomach ache and his mind was a mess. It was hard to think. 

So uncomfortable.

 

Connor loved it. 

 

 

\--

 

 

Connor finally comes back to his apartment, refusing to turn the lights on. He kicks off his shoes, takes off his jacket and just falls down on top of the bed. Out of breath. His breathing is heavy and for several minutes, Connor just lays there, enjoying the feeling that was taking over his body. He had never really felt aching or pain, or at least he had not really cared about it. And he had never met anyone who made his heart jump like that.

When he feels ready for it, he takes out his phone out of his pocket and opens the screen, quickly moving to his gallery that used to be quite empty but was now filled with pictures of a masterpiece. Connor checks through all of the photos, swiping right, swiping left, tapping on the screen to find the perfect image. Some of them are blurry, some of them perfectly clear. But suddenly, Connor stops to one picture and ends up staring at it. 

 

It's not like the other pictures, where this man is just reading and drinking. It's different. It's haunting.

 

 

In this picture, the man is looking straight at the camera.

 

 

Looking straight at Connor.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor continues following this mysterious man, and finally knows what his name is.

Connor finds himself sitting inside that cafe his crush visited yesterday. He ordered one coffee for himself and a biscuit to keep himself busy as long as possible. He sits inside the cafe for hours, barely touching his drink. And when he did drink, the coffee had turned cold already. After an hour or so, he gets his cup refilled. He eats the cookie slowly, but he wasn't fond of sweets anyway.

Connor is seated in the perfect place. He is sitting near a corner, where he can see the whole room. He can see outside through the window, even if the logo and name of the place was printed over it. He can see the entrance so he knows when his crush enters, even if the door has a bell on top of it that sang every time the door was opened. He could see all the other tables, and luckily there was only two other people in the cafe. That meant that when his crush would come in, Connor could also listen to him. If he ever was coming.

Connor was reading some book he had found at his home, under all the dust and other things. It was some kind of a crime novel that was so boring that Connor swore he would rather shoot himself instead of read this. But he had nothing else to cover his face with, if needed. A simple phone wouldn't do the trick. Hiding behind a book was so obvious, but he had no other plan. He had to hide somehow after staring at his crush like a maniac he was.

Every now and then Connor did check his phone, even if he never got any messages. He opened the photo album and looked through the photos, and he always looked at that one photo much longer than the others.

His heart flutters, knowing that his crush saw him taking pictures. He smiles, knowing that his crush has seen him. He wonders what the man was thinking, when he realized someone was taking pictures of him? Was it possible that he had secretly liked it?

 

 

Suddenly, the bell rings and Connor looks at the entrance. And there he is, finally.

His crush looks exactly the same, expect for the minor details. He has some of his hair tied down into a small ponytail, and Connor bites his lip. He wants to pull that hair so badly. His favorite man is also wearing a different shirt - it was white with black stripes on it, like a zebra. 

 _I'd love to ride you like a horse_ , Connor thinks to himself. He lowers his gaze back down onto his book and makes sure his face is hidden. So far, he has gone unnoticed. He silently watches as the man goes over to the counter and orders a black coffee. He can see the man take a few sugar cubes from a small bowl as he waits for his order to come in. 

"Do you have today's newspaper?" he asks and Connor presses his legs tightly together. He had almost forgotten how the man sounded like. His voice was so deep, so raspy, so ... odious, almost. But Connor just loved it, even if it sounded like his crush was always so angry. The man gets his newspaper and drink, he pays for it and takes a seat on the table. Sadly, the man is seated in a way that his back is faced towards Connor, but luckily, he can still see a little hint of his face. And like this, Connor can watch him, without his crush watching him in return.

His crush puts on a pair of black glasses before he starts reading the newspaper, every now and then sipping on his coffee. Connor notes that down. 

Once again, Connor takes a few pictures of him, before putting his phone back down like nothing had happened. Several minutes pass, where Connor pretends to read and enjoy his cold coffee.

Then, a phone rings.

Connor watches the man reach for his pocket and he answers the phone, pressing it against his ear.

 

 

 

"Lieutenant Hank Anderson."

 

Connor can feel excitement grow in his belly. He stops pretending that he isn't staring, and he looks at the man with wide eyes, mouth slightly open. He knows his name now. He knows his future lover's name.

Lieutenant. He is a police officer of some sort. He has a uniform probably, too. He has been working for long, dedicated to his job. Connor imagines this man in a uniform, swinging his handcuffs in his hands and looking down at Connor. Dirty thoughts fill the young man's mind.

Hank Anderson.

His name is Hank Anderson.

What a beautiful name.

 

Connor leans against his hand, a soft smile on his face. He is already imagining everything that could happen between them. How he would go and say hi and introduce himself, how they would go on their first date. Their first date would be just like in the movies, like a little movie night or a night at the restaurant, ending it with a romantic walk in the night. He has imagined how their first kiss would be like, all the way to their first time. Everything would be romantic.

Connor has already planned how their wedding would be like, marking down every little detail, all the way from the flowers to the food and the guests. He imagines having a family. A dog and maybe a little boy. Or a girl.

He smiles widely. Connor swears he is in love. His mouth opens softly.

 

 

 

Connor Anderson.

 

 

 

Without even realizing, Connor has said those words out loud and he quickly starts drinking his coffee, the taste of it so bad that it burns his tongue, even if the drink is disgustingly warm. He sees the man - no, he sees Hank moves his head slightly to his direction, but then his gaze falls back to the newspaper. 

Connor listens to the conversation as much as possible, even though his own heart beat is muffling his hearing. He listens, and finds out that the way Hank speaks like is quite lecherous. He is swearing, yelling, making a scene in the cafe but no one dares to tell him to shut up. Soon, Hank shuts the phone and puts it back to his pocket. Connor can't tell what he was fighting about, but he swears to kill that person that made his love so angry.

For a moment, Connor wonders why he is so angry. He doesn't know what happened, he doesn't even know who called Hank and what the fight is about. But he just feels the need to protect this man. He wants to protect Hank...

... and make him completely his.

 

 

 

It takes a while, but soon Hank is leaving the cafe. Today Connor decides not to follow him. He does not want to risk it. What happened last time still made his feet ache and his whole body shake, so today, Connor decided to do something else.

Connor plays a little visit to the library printer.

He is lucky the printer has its own room and that you can lock it. He just knows that people of all ages have come to this room secretly and fucked the living shit out of each other, but luckily today the room was free. And Connor was allowed to print his pictures in peace.

 

 

And soon, Connor is at home, and he starts putting the photos on the wall, right next to his bed. He chose that wall because it was in a bad shape and needed something to hide all the small cracks and the falling wallpaper. And while Connor was falling asleep, he could look at Hank's beautiful face. The beautiful curve of his nose, the wrinkles that looked like the little details of a sculpture, his grey hair that looked like the clouds before a thunder storm. 

When he was done, the wall had only few pictures of Hank Anderson. There were only two different kind ones to choose from, so there wasn't much to look at, but Connor was eager to make his photo show a little bigger as soon as possible. He enjoyed the pictures he had taken today at the cafe, with Hank's hair in a tiny ponytail and glasses on, gaze focused on the newspaper. The picture was almost quite artistic, if Connor dared to admit.

He had put one specific picture near to his pillow, so Connor could look at it right before he would fall asleep.

It was the picture where Hank had looked straight into the camera. His beautiful blue eyes meeting with his brown ones.

Connor laid down on the bed and moved his hand over the paper, like he was caressing Hank's face.

 

 

He swore he was madly in love.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor adds more pictures to his collection.
> 
>  
> 
> WARNING
> 
> This chapter has NSFW at the end. If you wish to skip, then stop reading after these marks : --

At the turn of a nightfall, Connor was once again at Hank's house. This time, he no longer needed to visit the library and print his pictures there. He had brought his own printer, so now he only had to download his pictures to his computer and print them from there. It wasn't the best, but it was all he had. And it was better like this, he did not want to get caught.

Aside from pictures, Connor was eager to start collecting more. He even wanted to steal things from Hank. Just something the man would not miss. The other day he had followed the man again and he saw him dump a bag of trash outside before returning inside. And when Connor was brave enough, he had taken that trash bag and taken it all the way to his home. There wasn't much inside - all kinds of food wrappings that had been licked completely clean, some beer cans, used cigarette butts, tissues. Connor didn't even care what the tissues were used for, but he was still excited to smell them and imagine they had been used for something dirty.

Connor hated himself for literally going nuts about someone's trash. But another man's trash is another man's treasure. And all of it was treasure to him. He kept the bag and put a few things on display on his shelf, smelling and sometimes even daring to lick them, trying to get some kind of a taste of his future lover.

 

 

But tonight, Connor decided he wanted more pictures of this man. So, he was sitting by his window and he started taking pictures. He took pictures of his house too, wanting to know what his future home would be like. Tonight, Hank was sitting by the sofa again, beer bottle in his hands and other hand petting his dog. Connor had learned this dog had a name - Sumo. A big dog like him with a puppy name. Sweet. He had seen Hank take a walk with his dog and yell something about 'Sumo pulling too strongly'. Connor wanted to walk his dog, too. Maybe go for a walk together.

Connor waits patiently behind the window, carefully taking pictures of Hank from every angle possible. But then, Hank stands up and he leaves. Connor can barely see where he is going - he walks through the corridor and opens a door on his right. He turns on the lights and leaves the door open. 

Connor waits patiently. He can see the living room from this particular window, but he can't see what they were watching from the TV. He can see a table far away from the window he was in, on top if a small laptop. He can see the back door and the small coffee table in front of the sofa, covered in some papers and other trash. Connor can see the sofa, and he immediately imagines sitting there next to Hank, cuddling to his side, watching some romantic comedy together.

Sumo is laying on top of the sofa, fast asleep, his tongue sticking out. There is light in the kitchen, but no lights in the living room. Connor can see a vinyl player and he just knows Hank loves jazz. He imagines dancing together with him. He loves the thought of Hank in a suit.

Connor sees some steam leave the room and he realizes it's a bathroom. It's late, so maybe Hank is taking a shower. Connor smiles at the thought and he so wants to see the man washing himself.

It turns him on so hard.

 

It takes a few minutes before Hank finally moves out of the bathroom. And in that moment, all of Connor's wild dreams have come true.

Hank steps out of the bathroom slowly, a white towel wrapped around his hips, his grey hair wet against his scalp, a few strands stuck against his forehead. Water is dripping on the floor and on his body, making him look messy yet so fucking sexy at the same time. His skin is shining under the dim lightning, making Hank look like an angel. Connor feels his face grow hot the more he looks at him. Hank has broad shoulders, somewhat muscular arms and a round stomach which looked extremely soft. Hank Anderson had a tattoo, right over his hairy chest, the pattern of it unclear to Connor because of the lack of light. Hank also has scars in his body, one long strike of a knife on the left side of his stomach. Connor wants to kiss them all so badly.

Connor takes a picture. Then at least 50 more.

Connor simply watches him as Hank moves to the kitchen, opens the fridge and takes a beer can into his hand. But instead of opening it, he pressed the can against his neck. Connor keeps pressing the camera button. 

 

 

_Click, click, click, clickclickclickclickclickclick._

 

 

 

Connor can't believe how sweaty he is by just looking at someone. Hank is an old man, clearly not taking care of his health or appearance, yet still .. His shaggy hair, untamed beard and every other hair in his body looks so soft and Connor just wants to touch it, smell it. Hank's back curves just nicely and his chubby form makes Connor bite his lip. 

 

 

_I love him. I love him so much._

 

 

Suddenly, the fucking dog barks. Connor realizes the dog is looking right at him. Sumo barks again and Hank turns to look at his dog. He then turns to look at the window Connor is looking through at. He literally jumps away from the building, landing on his bottom. He kicks his feet against the ground and picks himself up, soon prancing away from his yard. Connor goes to the neighbor's yard and he hides behind the fence, pressing his back against it and just breathing heavily. It feels like he is going to die.

He hears the door open. He can almost see Hank looking around, still only wearing a towel around him. He doesn't hear Hank yelling after him, shouting about 'someone trespassing on his property'. Instead, Connor only hears the dog growl.

"C'mon Sumo, let's get back inside", Connor can hear Hank mutter, before the door closes.

Connor lets out a heavy breath, relieved that he had not been caught. But Connor was sure that he had been seen. He could feel it - Hank had seen him, looked at him, seen a small hint of someone watching him. Connor should be worried, but instead he was just excited. He likes to think that Hank had seen him, noticed him, recognized him. 

He was sure Hank would like to know what the hell he was doing at his house, peeking through windows with a hard-on.

 

Connor takes a few more deep breaths before he stands up and starts heading back home. He opens his phone and looks at his photo album.

78 new pictures.

 

He tugged his jacket a little more down, knowing what he would be doing tonight.

 

 

 

\--

 

 

Connor was too busy to print these new pictures yet, so he decided to just look at his phone and work with that. 

He was laying on his bed, head against the pillows, one hand holding his phone and one in his pants. He first rubbed himself through his boxers, his cock already rock hard, leaking so much it left a wet spot on the fabric. His hand was almost shaking as Connor touched himself, for the first time in his whole life, and actually enjoying the contact.

He decides to just go with it and Connor pulls out his cock and wraps his fingers around it. Connor's dick was skinny, pale, not too big, paired with a small amount of pubic hair. Connor gives himself a stroke and already lets out a heavy breath.

Connor looks at the picture that had turned out the best. He was glad his phone was able to take such good pictures, even in a situation like that where there was no time for posing or making sure the lightning was right.

In the picture, Hank is pressing the beer can against his neck. You can clearly see how wet he is, how the hair is sticking against his face and how beautifully his whole body is carved. A true masterpiece.

Connor strokes himself faster, mouth hanging open. He feels like he is exploding already, small aching in his thighs, butterflies boiling in his stomach, something flowing through his veins. Tightness taking over his body, Connor releases a moan.

He imagines kissing Hank. Kissing his neck, shoulders, chest, that sweet curve of a stomach he so loved. Kissing his thighs, opening them, kissing what was hidden between. Connor imagines what Hank's cock looks like. He is quite sure it's as long as his, but much thicker and with much more hair, more experience. Connor imagines sucking him off, swirling his tongue around the shaft, thumb moving over the head, hand stroking the rest he can't yet swallow. Connor moans loudly. He closes his phone and leaves the memory of that picture in his head, and he tugs at his own hair, imagining it's Hank who is pulling his hair, making Connor swallow more of him.

"H-Hank", Connor moans out quietly, biting deep into his bottom lip as he continues stroking.

He is already thinking about their first time. A part of him likes to think it would be gentle and loving, another part of him wants to be completely owned by him. But 100% of him knows it would be a mix of both.

He doesn't know how it feels, but Connor likes to think that intercourse would feel extremely good. He closes his eyes and sees Hank thrusting his hips against him, burying his fat cock inside him, slamming against that spot over and over again -

Connor is suddenly cumming, his legs shaking, chest raising up heavily. He is moaning loudly, not caring if he is interrupting his neighbors and their night activities. He creates a wet mess all over his stomach, his eyes completely shut, hands tucking at his hair strongly. His heart is going crazy, stomach sucking in and out, muscles tightening and relaxing.

It's the best thing he has ever felt.

And Connor wants more.

 

 

"Hank ... Hank ..."

 

"I am yours."

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor has been following Hank for weeks now, but one day things take a heavy turn.

A week goes quickly by, then another one. Connor doesn't even realize it's been so long he has loved Hank Anderson. Every day, he watches him from afar, never daring to move closer. And that is just fine with him, because Connor is completely happy watching from afar. His collection is growing so big that soon he has no room for other pictures or things Hank had used. 

Connor's wall at home was full of pictures - pictures of Hank walking on the street, reading the newspaper, talking to his phone, drinking coffee, driving his car, walking his dog, watching television ... just everything Connor had been able to capture. And even if they were only taken with a simple phone, some of the photos were works of art to him. Well, everything related to Hank Anderson was always a work of art, a gift from the Heavens. Connor had put post-it notes over the wall too, writing the date when the picture was taken and what Hank did that day. He was planning to start keeping a diary, just writing about Hank and admiring how amazing the man just was.

Connor's shelf was now completely dedicated to Hank Anderson. He had that trash bag sitting at the bottom, and on the shelf that was on his eye level, there were the treasures he cherished the most. There was a shirt, that Connor often put on and smelled, sometimes putting the shirt over a pillow and imagining he was hugging Hank. Hank had once went shopping, tried on a t-shirt and decided it wasn't his style, and Connor had waited behind the changing room before going in and taking the shirt that had once touched Hank's skin.

He had a coffee mug he had stolen from the coffee shop. It was just like the others, expect Connor could see the exact spot where Hank's lips had lingered. Sometimes, Connor gave a soft kiss on that spot.

He also had a gum wrapper, a straw, another tissue and a single strand of silver hair that Hank had left on his seat. Connor cherished that hair the most, keeping it in a tiny box.

 

Connor was sure he wasn't doing anything wrong. He wasn't hurting anyone. He wasn't hurting himself. 

He was just expressing his love for this man.

It made him feel alive.

 

Connor wasn't crazy, was he?

No. Nothing bad would happen because of his obsession. Never.

 

 

\--

 

 

One night when the sky was pitch black and snow had slowly started covering the ground, Connor felt braver than ever. He followed Hank to a bar, like he usually did when Hank was having one of those bad nights. But this time, Connor entered the bar too.

To his luck, it was quite crowded. Hank took a seat by the counter and ordered a beer, the usual one. Connor sat quite near him, his back facing him so Hank wouldn't notice him. Connor had dressed up like a bloody spy - a beanie buried in his head and a brown leather jacket, mixed together with dark clothing. His head hang low as he sat on the table and just listened. He didn't need a drink to keep himself entertained. He closed his eyes and just listened Hank's breathing. Even if people were talking loudly around them, Connor could still only focus on Hank - his heavy breathing, the sad sighs he let out, the liquid being swallowed loudly down his throat. 

Only thing that mattered to him was Hank Anderson.

Connor smiled silently to himself, just embracing the fact he was so close to Hank Anderson.

 

 

 

It doesn't take long when someone approaches Hank and starts talking to him. Connor looks over his shoulder carefully and sees a young female smirking, her blue hair tied into a ponytail. She is wearing a tight black dress with a pair of high heels that made her appear taller. She seemed a little drunk, but only a little. 

"Aren't you lonely? I could keep you company", the girl cooed, leaning against the counter. Connor clenched his hand into a fist. What a lecherous little woman.

"I like to be alone, so why don't you turn around in your heels and leave me be", Hank muttered quietly, not lifting his head up to look at the girl. The blue haired girl doesn't give up though. She lays her hand on Hank's shoulder, and Connor softly gasps.

 

 

 

_She is touching Hank. My Hank. She can't do that. No. Go away._

 

 

 

"Someone is in a bad mood. Here, let me get you a drink", the girl suggested. Both Hank and Connor got a strong feeling this girl was a hooker, or just someone really in need of money. Connor is clenching his fists together so tight that his finger nails press glowing moon figures onto his palm. He is about to stand up and punch the young woman right in her face, but Hank moves first. He slaps the girl's hand away and looks at her, eyes full of anger.

"I am not fucking interested. Now fucking leave before I punch you", Hank Anderson gritted his teeth together and without saying anything else, the girl decides to leave, a bit annoyed but shocked.

 

Connor follows her.

Without even realizing, Connor grabs an empty beer bottle from a table that had been left alone and he leaves the bar.

 

 

 

Connor follows the girl into the night. She is hugging herself, a tiny coat around her body that does not warm her up at all. He can hear the girl curse loudly, and he can just imagine how she is complaining about not getting money tonight either. 

No one is around. It's just him and the girl, walking alone on the street as the night falls deeper. Connor looks around, the bottle in his hand. Every now and then, he sees an alley on his left, a perfect place to do a crime. He starts walking faster towards the girl, full of anger.

The blue haired girl looks over her shoulder and realizes she is being followed. She tries to walk faster, but her high heels and the snow both slow her down. And suddenly, she slips and falls, face hitting against the ground.

Connor speeds up.

 

She is like one of those girls in horror movies who don't know how to make any good decisions. Tonight, she has already made three bad decisions. One, she wore an outfit that is not meant for running. Two, she turns to the alley that is the exact place where all the bad things happen. And three ...

She made moves on Hank Anderson.

 _His_ Hank Anderson.

 

 

 

Connor turns to the alley, the whole corner of it dark and just full of trash. A place where no one hangs out, expect maybe the homeless and drug dealers. He grabs the girl by the hair and slams her against the wall. She cries, hits her head loudly against the brick wall and she falls down onto her knees. She cries harder, legs kicking against the ground, trying to stand up. But her body gives up under her, and she tries to crawl away. Connor moves and kicks her right into her stomach and she almost pukes out whatever is inside her stomach.

"Please, dont -", she cries out, but is unable to continue as a rough sob and a cough fill her mouth. Connor tilts his head to the side, empty look in his eyes. He looks over to the large trash tank on his side and Connor slams the bottle against it. It shatters into pieces, some of the glass pieces hitting Connor's hand yet he keeps holding onto it. And then, he has a weapon. Half of a bottle with sharp pointy parts at the end. Connor turns to look at the girl again, and she sobs harder.

"What did I do?" she asks, makeup running down her cheeks now. Connor just looks down at her. He is so full of anger, so full of blood lust. He looks down at her hand, the hand she had touched Hank with. He has never felt this angry in his whole life. He wants to kick things, hit the wall until it leaves a crack. Connor just wants to yell until his voice cracks and completely disappears.

"Let me go", the girl whimpers, as she just waits for Connor to do something, anything. But Connor is only able to look at her. He feels anxious. The feeling is making him shaky, his whole body aching in a painful way. Connor feels like he is going to faint.

The girl is quickly standing up and she tries to run, but Connor grabs her by the throat and he slams her against the wall. She wraps her hand around Connor's wrist, trying to break away from his grip, legs kicking roughly against the ground. She is crying loudly, yelling for help. Connor finds her voice so annoying.

 

 

 

 

 

Connor presses the sharp points of the bottle against her stomach and they sink in deep.

 

 

The girl gaps for air, her wide horrified eyes looking up at Connor and his dead cold look. Connor twists the bottle against her gut and she groans painfully.

 

 

 

Connor slams the bottle against her stomach again, then again. He stabs her over and over again, until blood is dripping onto the ground, down from her stomach and along her legs. She pukes out blood, her body shaking, trying to somehow survive, and far too soon, her body relaxes and grows cold.

Connor grunts as he keeps stabbing her, watching how the blood flies around over his clothes, hand and even his face. He moves his hand up and stabs her right over her chest. He twists the end of the bottle against her, watching how the skin rips apart and the blood spurts out.

He feels so alive the more he does it. Even if his arm grows tired, he keeps stabbing her again and again. Her eyes roll over, body almost falls to the ground, and Connor just keeps going.

 

He thinks he is doing the world a favor. He thinks he is doing the right thing.

 

No one can touch his man.

 

No one else but him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Stab.

 

Stab.

 

Stab.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Connor finally stops with a loud gasp and he lets the body fall down onto the ground. He watches the murder scene, eyes wide open, mouth gasping for air, whole form shaking. 

The girl's legs are wide open, her tongue almost sticking out, blood everywhere. Multiple stab wounds, red liquid covering her clothes, the wall and the ground under her. Soon, there is a puddle of blood reaching towards Connor's feet and he steps away.

He looks down at his own blood tattered clothes, then down at his hand. In panic, Connor throws the bottle into the trash can and looks back at the body.

There is several minutes where Connor just watches what he has done, gasping for air, not knowing what to do. He is lucky no one has yet caught him. Connor can't explain the feeling that is taking over him. His heart is going so crazy that it's impossible to count the beats. His hands are trembling and Connor swears he is going to faint from all the thoughts that are going inside his head.

For a moment, there is just panic. Then, he smiles.

Connor can't believe how good he feels. How relieved he is that the girl who touched _his_ Hank Anderson is now dead. 

He feels so alive. He looks at the mess he has made and Connor can't even explain how he feels. He feels relieved. Happy. Excited. Needy for more.

 

Connor takes a step closer and kneels over the dead body. He inspects it for a while, before he presses his fingers against the wound, coating them in the red juice. He then starts writing on the brick wall, above the dead body. He writes a simple sentence the best he can, dipping his fingers into the blood after every line he has made. And then, he has turned the murder scene into an artwork.

 

 

 

 

**I AM ALIVE**

 

 

 

 

Connor looks at his writing with a smile, then his gaze falls to his blood covered fingers. He brings them to his lips and gives a lick. Connor admits he likes the taste and he sucks onto his own fingers. The taste is metallic, somehow dirty. Connor imagines what his own blood tastes like. He wonders if everyone tastes the same underneath the skin.

He wonders how Hank Anderson tastes like, from outside and inside.

 

 

He stands up and takes out his phone, and he starts taking pictures like a maniac. Click, click, click. He takes photos of the full body, then moves closer and takes pictures of the little details. He zooms on the face, on the wounds, the blood dripping down on the snowy ground, her finger nails and messed up lipstick. Connor wants to remember this moment to every tiny little detail.

 

 

 

 

 

Connor finally realizes that he has been on the alley far too long and he quickly starts prancing away. He heads to the direction of the bar, because that is the way that takes him back to the subway and home. Connor is extremely lucky today - no one seems to have noticed what had happened, and it's dark, so hopefully no one can see how he looks like right now. Connor can feel something sticky against his cheeks and lips, and he tries to keep his head down so no one can see his true nature.

Connor continues walking, his mind repeating the scene like it was a movie. He couldn't help himself. Connor wanted to jump around and laugh like a maniac, but he controlled his excitement and just kept walking.

 

He is just about to pass the bar, when the front door opens and the light from the inside shines against Connor's face. He stops and looks who is exiting the bar.

 

 

 

Connor recognizes the shaggy silver hair, the brown jacket and the dead look that people who had suffered had. He freezes completely. 

 

Hank Anderson stops in front of the door, takes a cigarette from his pocket and lights it up. Connor just stares at him, mouth slightly hanging open. His heart beats twice as faster when he sees Hank, and the murder he has just committed is nothing compared to this. Connor is not sure he has been this close to Hank before.

Hank soon lifts his head up and looks at Connor straight in the eyes, the cigar placed between his lips so perfectly. Connor swallows nervously. 

 

Hank Anderson is looking at him. 

And his gaze never breaks away.

 

 

 

Several seconds pass by and it's just them, under the dim light of the sleeping city, slow snowfall covering the top of their heads. Connor doesn't know what to do, he just looks and completely forgets he is covered in someone's blood. His heart flutters and legs almost break when Hank keeps looking at him. 

Connor doesn't realize his mouth is slowly curving up into a smile.

He feels so happy, so much in love. Hank Anderson finally sees him, and this time for real. Now, Connor feels like he is truly living in this moment, and all he wants to do is jump into the man's arms and kiss him, hold him, tell him how he feels. Connor wants to show how much he loves this man.

Hank's expression never changes.

 

 

 

"Are you alright, son?"

 

 

 

Connor doesn't know what to say to that. His smile fades away quickly and he swallows nervously. Hank puffs out some air before placing the cigar back into his mouth.

 

 

 

"Did you hurt yourself?"

 

 

 

Connor suddenly realizes that Hank can see he is covered in blood. He looks down at his body, then back up at the man. No, this is not how this was supposed to be. Connor had imagined their first meeting so many times, and this was one of them, expect there would have been no blood.

Connor realizes he is shaking, and he looks down at his hands. He can't bring himself to move. His mind is telling him to run, to get the hell out of here, but Connor can't bring himself to do it. He gaps for air, closes his eyes tightly, clenches his hands into fists.

Not now. 

Connor tries to calm himself down. But who could calm down after a moment like this? He has just killed someone in cold blood, and he didn't even hide the body. He barely disposed the evidence. He is covered in blood, and now his love interest, who is of course a cop, has seen him.

Connor wants to die. He wants to sink down under the ground and just disappear. He thinks he has ruined everything. Hank wasn't supposed to see this side of him. If Connor would have made a move on him one day, he would have been like any other human being - normal. Hank was never supposed to know about Connor's obsession on him. And now, all of his dreams crushed.

 

 

 

 

Suddenly, a hand moves to Connor's cheek and his head is lifted up. Connor's eyes flutter open and he sees Hank, so close to him, eyes worried. Connor feels like he is out of breath. Hank Anderson is checking him out, making sure he is alright, checking for wounds of all kind. Connor can only look at his face and inspect all those features he loved about him. Those beautiful eyes, that mouth he so wanted to kiss, his silver hair Connor wanted to pull ...

And that hand, placed on his cheek.

It feels like a dream. There he was, being held close by Hank, that hand against his cheek so gently. It was like he cared. Connor couldn't help but feel out of breath, when Hank was so close to him. He wanted to kiss him, wrap his arms around him, just be close to him.

Connor leans against the hand and closes his eyes. Hank's hand feels so warm, so gentle yet rough at the same time. Connor feels like he could melt right there and there. He wanted to feel more of that hand, somewhere else in his body. He wanted those hands all around him.

"What the fuck?"

Hank pulls his hand away and he just looks at Connor, a confused, and slightly disturbed look on his face. Connor opens his eyes again, realizes what he has done and tries to say something. He wants to explain himself, or at least apologize.

 

But instead, he runs.

 

 

 

 

Connor runs for his life, ignoring how Hank is yelling after him.

 

He is smiling the whole way through, his hand every now and then cupping that spot on his face.

 

Hank Anderson had touched him.

 

It had to mean Hank loved him back.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hank Anderson just watches as the young man runs away and he scratches the back of his head. He can't help but feel worried for him. The young folk had been covered in blood, or something that was red, and he had looked distressed. Hank thinks about all the possibilities, trying to think if he should go after him or not. Maybe the young folk was hurt, and needed help. Or maybe he had hurt someone else. Either way, Hank has drank so much he doesn't bother to run after him.

He bites his lip. Why did that man look so familiar? It felt like Hank had seen him before. He shakes his head. It wasn't possible.

 

As he is about to return back to the bar, he stops and drops the cigar onto the ground.

 

 

 

 

 

He remembers the man he pumped into some weeks ago.

 

He remembers the man outside the cafe, holding his phone up like he was taking pictures.

 

He remembers the man on the cafe, that had clearly kept his eyes on him the whole time.

 

He remembers the face that had been looking in through his window.

 

 

 

 

Hank looks at the direction Connor had ran to.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"I remember you."

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank Anderson investigates on the murder of a certain blue haired woman he saw the other night. He already knows who is guilty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fuck i have so many things i want to write about yet im still somehow surviving here, hope you like my messy works

The next morning, way too early for Hank's liking, he was once again visiting the bar, or at least the area near it. Cops had surrounded one alleyway completely, putting up yellow police lines and trying to keep the audience away with their smartphones and cameras. Hank had a bad feeling already, even if he did not yet know what had happened. He could hear the sounds of disgust, and the worried faces only told him that the scene was going to be gruesome.

For some reason, Hank found it hard to focus on the case. More than usually. He couldn't forget about that young man he saw the other night. He had looked like he was in need of help, and a part of that stranger just yelled 'help me'. And Hank just couldn't ignore it. But the moment he had stepped closer and lifted the stranger's head up, Hank had seen that the man was covered in blood.

Mostly someone else's blood and not his own.

Hank can't seem to forget how that man had just stared at him silently, and leaned against Hank's hand like he was rutting. It was the weirdest thing he had ever seen, and it made his hair stand up. But for now, Hank Anderson decided to ignore it until he was done with this.

 

 

 

Hank meets up with his coworker Ben Collins, the overweight man telling him what has happened. A clear murder with an unknown motive. Something they had seen millions of times before. Soon, they let Hank enter the crime scene and Hank starts looking around.

He first sees the body, slightly frozen from the cold. Skin pale, eyes still open, blood dripping from every possible hole. Multiple messy stab wounds. Tight clothes, muck on her heels, makeup ruined because of crying. The basic Friday night. What a fucking mess.

Hank already detects that the murder weapon wasn't a normal knife. He also detects that this murder wasn't very planned. It's a virulent attack, done quickly in the moment without thinking much. There is a clear sign of raw emotion. The stab wounds tell that someone who was emotionally distressed had kept stabbing the victim, even after the girl had stopped breathing. No murder weapon is yet to be found, but there are pieces of glass on the ground and on the wounds, so even an idiot can tell the murderer used a simple bottle. 

Hank looks at the writing above the victim's body. _"I am alive"_ , written in her own blood. It's written almost perfectly, complete straight lines like they had been written with paint. The writing makes the scene an interesting case - everything yells that the murder wasn't planned, and that the victim was chosen by random, and that the murderer didn't have any certain relations to this girl. But the writing changes everything. What did the killer mean by saying he was alive? If this was a sudden murder done only because the killer felt like it, why would they bother writing a message?

"I am alive", Hank mutters out loud. "Isn't everyone alive?"

"Maybe a robot killed this girl", Ben chuckles behind him. Hank turns to look at him and shakes his head. No time for jokes. Or references. Hank didn't get any of those.

"Or maybe someone who doesn't feel like they are alive did this", Hank comments and rubs his chin. "Someone is so emo that they think they don't feel alive? Welcome to the future", Ben says and he laughs again. He and his stupid jokes.

 

Hank stands up and inspects the crime scene. It's a bloody mess and it's giving him a headache. He lights up a cigar. So far, no one has zero ideas of who could be the guilty one. Some people had said they heard some screaming, but that's it. There have been no sightings of anyone who could have done this. 

Expect Hank had seen someone who could have done it.

It was that man he had seen around far too often. He had started to feel like someone had been watching him, but only last night Hank had realized that maybe he truly was being stalked. And now, that man had been covered in blood when he had met him. And that man, that young handsome boy that just looked like he needed friends, had cuddled up against Hank's hand like he was in love with him. It freaked Hank out. He was afraid he could be the next victim, if that stranger was even guilty for this.

The worst thing is that Hank feels like he is a big part of this murder. He knew this girl. This girl had been hitting on him just last night and then left when Hank had pushed her away. And now, she was dead.

Hank tries to put some glues together. Why would that creepy boy kill this girl? Did he know her?

 

 

 

Failing to develop a coherent theory of what had happened, people started kicking Hank away and started to dispose the body. Hank left without fighting back and he started heading back to his car without saying much else. Soon, he entered the car and sat down, but he didn't start the car. He didn't want to go to the station, not just yet. He had to collect his thoughts. Hank leans his head against the steering wheel and sighs.

Thoughts entangled from everything he had seen, Hank goes through his memories multiple times just to remember something. He feels like there is a connection right under his nose, and he just doesn't realize it yet.

 

The victim was last seen at the bar last night. She left the bar quickly, angry for being turned down. The bar doors slammed shut and Hank had chuckled for his victory and continued drinking. Someone else in the bar had stood up and started heading for the exit too. Hank had not seen their face, because he was a bit drunk already and he wasn't the kind of guy who stared, but he had seen the brown jacket and the black beanie. The figure almost ran to the door like he was in a hurry.

The figure grabbed a beer bottle from an empty table before leaving the bar.

Hank lifts his head up as he realizes the obvious puzzle pieces. The man who had went after her had taken a bottle with him, and used it as a murder weapon. Hank had a clue, a strong clue. Hank now knew what the murderer was wearing. A black beanie and a brown jacket.

 

Hank doesn't know why that man went after the girl and killed her, but for now that didn't matter. Hank just needed to know who he was so he could go and ask some questions from him.

 

Hank ends up thinking about that man he had seen the other night. The stalker. The weirdo who had cuddled against his hand. The stranger covered in blood.

That man in front of the bar, covered in blood, wearing a black beanie and a brown jacket.

It was obvious, but now Hank was more than sure.

 

He knew what the killer looked like.

 

Now he just needed a name.

And an answer to the question "why".

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

For days, Hank goes through all kinds of files, just to find a face that was similar. He first goes through all kinds of criminal records, but no man that pretty has ever been arrested, not at least in Detroit. It takes a few days more before Hank gets access to the highest equipment the police force had - face recognition.

It was some sort of a computer that could identify faces all around the world. If you saw someone on the street that you needed to identify, all you had to do is to type in what they looked like and where you saw them, and the computer gives you a list of people who fit the description. Modern technology. It took Hank a whole fucking hour to get the thing working.

Hank does his best to remember that face, and he starts typing everything he can think off. Short brown hair. Brown eyes. About six feet tall. Moles. Skinny. Dark eye bags. White male. Pale skin. Cleft chin.

Hank was bad with describing people, but he got over 250 results based on that description, so there weren't that many faces to look through. Hank started swiping like he was in Tinder, looking for a perfect partner. He found that the machine didn't work the best, because it started suggesting people who didn't even live in Detroit and showed faces that belonged to red heads, people of color and even women. Hank found himself cursing, knowing he would never find that man, unless he met him in person again. And for now, he wanted to meet his stalker when he was prepared to fight.

He keeps swiping, almost falling asleep, until he accidentally moves past a face that catches his eye. He goes back and ends up staring at that face for far too long.

It's the exact same face. That weird curl in his hair falling over his forehead, those soft pink lips, that dead cold look the boy is giving to the camera. The same haunting look the boy had given to Hank, only for a second before his eyes had sparkled. It's the same face, just without the blood this time.

"Connor", Hank muttered the young man's name out loud. 

There was Connor's address, phone number, everything Hank needed to know. He got it all down, making sure he knew where his apartment was before he was ready to leave. He looked at the picture of the man's face quietly.

How could a young man like him be a criminal? This Connor seems to be a completely normal boy with a normal childhood and a normal life. But clearly something was wrong with him. Clearly, God made an angel that turned into the devil.

 

Hank presses his hand against the screen, like he was touching the stalker's, no, Connor's face again, before he shuts the machine down and leaves.

 

He had a place to visit.

 

 

\--

 

 

Hank Anderson had arrived at the address the computer had given him, and he parked his car in front of a block of flats. A vacant neighborhood, not much going on. Old building, made for people whose pockets weren't that full. He entered the building that had no elevator - Hank hated places where he had to climb thousands of stairs -, and with a few curses, he started climbing up the stairs until he finally reached the correct floor. The right apartment was easy to find as it was the third door on the right and without hesitating for too long, Hank knocked on the door.

 

No answer.

 

Hank knocks again, now harder. Still no answer. Maybe the suspect was running an errand. Hank presses his ear against the door and listens. No sound, nothing at all. Maybe Connor was truly away. Or maybe he knew Hank was coming for him.

"This is Lieutenant Anderson from the Detroit City Police Department. Open the door", Hank yells through the door and he waits patiently for a few more seconds, before just muttering 'fuck it'. He takes out his gun from his pocket, holds it up close to his chest as he lifts his leg up and kicks the door down. The wooden door falls down and smashes against the floor, dust flying in the air.

"Still got it", Hank mutters to himself quietly, smirks for a second, and after a few silent seconds he finally enters the apartment. He holds his gun up, pointing at every direction, making sure no one was going to attack him from behind. He walks along the corridor, opening the door on his right that is just a closet, then the door on his left that is a tiny bathroom with a shower. He then enters a room that seems to be a bedroom. Hank sees a laptop and a printer, clothes and other mess on the floor. Then, Hank looks to his right.

 

He sees a wall full of pictures.

Pictures of him.

 

 

 

 

Hank quickly looks around, making sure he is truly alone before he starts looking at the wall more carefully.

Hank sees a picture of him in the only cafe he likes, looking right at the camera. Hank remembers that moment. He had felt like someone had been looking at him, and with his side eye he had noticed a figure standing outside the shop. He had turned his head, looked at the man taking photos and just shaken his head. Hank thought the person was taking photos of the damn coffee shop logo like some hipster. Hank can't understand why then he didn't realize someone was stalking him. It was a big red flag when someone was taking pictures of you. He should have known better.

Hank sees more pictures of himself, some of them a bit blurry, taken in a rush. Simple pictures of Hank doing his every day routine, covering up the broken wallpaper. Hank felt uncomfortable just looking at them. Judging by the pictures, sometimes this Connor had been right in front of him, next to him or coming right behind him, and Hank had never noticed. It creeped him the fuck out. There is even post it notes next to the pictures, telling the exact time, day and place when the picture was taken.

" _That one time Hank Anderson looked right at me_ ", was written in the picture placed next to the pillow. He reads more of the little texts written in the small bright colored papers.

 

 

 

_"Hank Anderson talking on the phone."_

 

_"Hank Anderson going to work."_

 

_"Hank Anderson drinking his usual morning coffee."_

 

_"Hank Anderson using the subway."_

 

_"Hank Anderson buying groceries."_

 

 

 

 

Hank doesn't know how to feel. He feels troubled, that's for sure. But he can't help but wonder why the hell would anyone stalk him. What was so special about him? Hank remembers the first time he saw this stalker, if that even fast the moment when this all started. They had crashed against each other on the street. Yes, Hank remembered. He had yelled at him. He remembered how Connor had looked at him with wide eyes and said nothing at all. Did this whole stalking thing start from that moment? Why would anyone start following a man who had only been rude to you? Hank could not understand why.

 

Suddenly, Hank finally realizes that there are pictures of him that make him almost puke.

There is a picture of him, naked, only a towel covering what ever was hidden below his stomach. There was so many of them, hidden under other pictures or placed on top of each other. Hank feels sick, not just because he sees himself, but because someone else has seen him like that and probably, most definitely, wanked off to those pictures of him. Hank moves his hand over his mouth, trying not to puke. Someone, this fucking stalker named Connor, has been masturbating to him. There was no doubt.

The more Hank looks at the pictures, the more horrified he is. He sees pictures of him at his home, just enjoying his life as much as possible. There is even pictures of his apartment, even Sumo is seen in a few of them. This stranger knew where he lived, too. 

 

 

 

 

Hank takes a deep breath, lets out a grunt before he decides he has seen enough. He looks at the shelf placed on his right and starts inspecting it too. The view isn't any better. He sees a trash bag that smells like shit and things that probably belonged to him. He sees a shirt that doesn't look familiar at first, but then he realizes that he had tried it on once at the shop. Then there was a dirty coffee mug, and Hank knew immediately it was from the only cafe he ever went to. He knew this because the coffee mugs there were tiny as hell, were painted white and the handle was colored differently, usually bright blue or green. Other objects were taking over the shelf, and it didn't take long for Hank to realize they all had a connection to him.

 

 

Anderson is about to turn around and make a run for it, but his eyes suddenly fall down to a book. It's like any book, old and used, but something is sticking out between the pages. Hank looks around nervously, before he grabs the book and opens it. Pictures fall down onto the floor and Hank has to kneel down to take a look at them. He picks one picture, then throws it on the floor in disgust.

Murder scene pictures.

Detailed shots of the murder Connor had committed.

Evidence on the case he is working on.

 

 

 

 

 

Hank knows he has seen enough. There was no way he would linger in this place any longer. He quickly puts the photos back inside the book, throws it on the shelf before he literally runs out of the apartment. His reaction to this was instantaneous, no hesitation - he needed to get away. Hank ran all the way outside, got inside his car and drove all the way home.

Hank Anderson wasn't sure why he didn't call help immediately. He could have just informed the station that he got the murderer in his hands, or at least told them the address and just leave the whole thing for them to solve. But he felt ashamed. Any cop that would now go inside that cursed apartment would see pictures of Hank. Almost nude pictures of him. They would see that some young crazy ass had a big crush on Hank. Fucking Hank out of all people. Hank could already hear his coworker, Gavin, laugh at him, tease about it for months.

Hank guessed he just felt ashamed. Humiliated. He could get rid of the photos, but that is destroying the evidence. And he didn't want to be part of some evidence, not like this.

Simply put, Hank decides to do this himself.

But not today.

 

His plan is simple. Today, he just calms down and maybe thinks things over. And the next day, if his plan stays the same, he goes back to Connor's apartment, arrests him himself and brings him to the station with the evidence. And he would get rid of the evidence that made it clear the boy was stalking him. He would at least burn the shirtless photos of him. Hank couldn't bare for anyone else to see those.

This case had quickly become a personal errand for him.

 

Tomorrow he would start.

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

Hank Anderson arrives at his home, finally after a long drive. He parks his car, shuts it down and just leans his head against the steering wheel, letting out an exhausted sigh. Hank swallows deeply, before he finally gets out of the car and locks it behind him. He starts walking towards his apartment, hands in his pocket, exhausted eyes glued to the ground. This day has been just too rough for him, and all he wants to do now is grab a bottle of beer and relax.

He opens the front door and closes it behind him. 

 

The moment he enters his own house, Hank feels weird. He expects Sumo to come to him and say hello, tail wagging and sloppy tongue giving him a few licks. But Sumo doesn't come. Hank would expect the dog is sleeping, but Sumo wasn't that kind of a dog who doesn't come say hello. Even if the old dog was sleeping or eating his meal, he still came to say hello every time. Hank takes off his shoes and his jacket and he peeks to the living room. Sumo is sleeping at his usual spot, near the table with his laptop. The dog opens his eyes but doesn't move, or even wag his tail. 

The dog looks scared.

 

 

 

 

Hank stops and he listens, but hears nothing.

 

 

 

Hank reaches for his jacket's pocket and takes out his gun.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He starts moving slowly, past his kitchen to the hallway that lead to his bathroom and bedroom. He sees a light on in the bathroom, and he can't even remember if he left it on or if someone else has left it. Hank can feel his heart speed up and he can feel sweat rolling down his forehead. His gun held up high, Hank moves dead slowly towards the bathroom, and before he enters, he presses his body against the wall. He takes a few breaths, before he enters the bathroom, gun held up high.

 

 

 

 

 

No one. 

 

There is no one in the bathroom.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

For a moment, Hank lets out a sigh, but then, he can see the shower curtain is closed.

 

 

 

 

 

His shower curtains are thin, easily see-through, but Hank still has a feeling someone is behind them. Who knows, maybe the lightning doesn't show the person's shadow. Or maybe someone is lying down in the tub.

It's just like that damn horror movie, expect this time the murderer was behind the curtains.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

With his gun up, Hank approaches the bath tub, dead slowly. His heart is thumping so loudly it's the only thing he can hear, apart from his own nervous breathing. Hank reaches for the curtain with his left hand, right hand holding the gun.

Slowly, he grabs the curtain and draws it open and points inside.

 

 

 

 

No one. Fucking no one.

 

 

 

 

Hank opens the curtains some more. No one is standing behind them. No one is laying down on the tub.

 

 

 

 

Hank lowers his gun, lets out a frustrated sigh and curses silently. He was always so paranoid, even if nothing was wrong. Everything was just -

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Smack._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Something hits Hank's head, and he slips, falling down to the bathroom's slightly damp floor. To make things worse, he hits his head to the edge of the bath tub and rolls down next to it. His ears are humming, vision blurry, eyes unable to stay open for very long. And of course, his bloody head hurts. He can't tell if he is bleeding, but the pressure on his skull is making it hard to breath, and Hank swears he is already about to pass out. Hank curses, hand pressing against his head and he slowly turns to his back.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hank sees someone standing next to him. He can't really see who, because his vision seems to be blurry. He blinks rapidly, trying to get his vision to work, but everything is a mess in his eyes. And then, his eyes close, now a few seconds longer than before.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He forces his eyes open. He sees that the person is holding a night lamp. His night lamp. From his bedroom.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"What the ffffuck?" Hank is able to mutter out. Even his own voice was muffled in his ears.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hank doesn't get to say much else, when the person hits him in the head again. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

His skull hits the bathroom floor and he is knocked unconscious.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hank really should have called for backup. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank wakes up in his own bed. He is not alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it took me a while to post this chapter. i was having a depressive episode and i just found it super hard to write. im not all too happy about this chapter for some reason but its the best i can do at the moment
> 
> also i'm amazed how this fanfiction has grown, it was first supposed to be simple one shots but look, it has a plot. wow

Hank Anderson wakes up with a headache much worse than a migraine after a night full of heavy drinking. He grunts, eyes refusing to open. He tries to move. His wrists feel tight, body is aching, ears still humming. Something is around his neck. It's not too tight, but it makes turning your head uncomfortable. Hank grunts again, and tries to sleep the headache off.

But then he starts remembering what had happened.

 

The pictures. The objects. The whole damn apartment. An altar made just for Hank, to obsess over him, to worship him like he was one of the Gods that ruled the world.

 

The hit on the head. He could still feel the rough contact on his skull, the humming still ringing in his ears. Who could have thought that a simple night lamp could hurt that much?

 

A figure, standing next to him.

 

That face. Those sad eyes looking down at him.

 

 

Connor.

 

Fucking Connor.

 

 

 

 

Hank forces himself to open his eyes and looks up at the ceiling. It's the same old ceiling he faced every morning he had a hard time getting up. Anderson blinks rapidly, and slowly sits up. He is in his own bedroom, as expected. The wardrobe was in front of him, doors and drawers opened. Some clothes on the floor, a few books there and there, otherwise it was quite neat. 

The first thing Hank notices is the handcuffs around his wrists. They are tight, almost piercing his skin open if he struggled. They were his own. He had barely used them these days, but it was a necessary equipment to have. 

Then he sees a rope. No, a leash. It started from the legs of his bed, wrapped around the wooden stick that kept the bed standing. The leash climbed up to the mattress, moved between his legs over to Hank's ... neck. Hank moved his handcuffed hands up and tugs at the leash. His throat aches from the pull, and he decides to give up. His hand then reaches around his neck, and he realizes that he has a collar around his neck. A fucking collar, like he was a poodle.

Hank's first instinct is to try to escape. Even if its a bit of a challenge, he tries to reach behind his neck to simply open the collar and leave. After all, he knew who the collar belonged to in the first place. Since he did have a dog, a good old friend named Sumo, Hank was familiar with these kind of locks. He traces his finger along the collar that felt like leather, but was made out of some other cheap material that was supposed to resemble leather. Hank thinks he has found the lock, but there is something wrapped over it that he can't reach it. Duct tape?

Hank curses and he gives up. He looks under the bed where the leash went and saw how tightly it was wrapped around the bed's leg. Not only it had been tied so hard that you would need scissors to get free, there was also a crazy amount of duct tape around the leg and leash. It seemed that whoever had tied Hank up - even if he had a good feeling of who it was - was clearly doing it while panicking. The tape wasn't perfectly around the bed's leg and the fact Hank was wearing a collar was just odd, but it seemed like the attacker couldn't find anything else to keep him on the bed.

Well, Hank wasn't going to just give up after a few unsuccessful tries. He stands up and starts heading towards the bed room door that had been left open. He doesn't get far when the collar is already choking him. Hank turns around, grabs the leash with his hands and starts pulling. The bed doesn't even move, making the man wonder how heavy it really was. Or maybe he was just weak as shit. Hank pulls again, grunting loudly, trying to ignore how his neck burned and how it felt like the leash was creating scars into his palm and fingers.

 

Suddenly, Hank feels something press against the back of his head.

He hears a click.

 

 

 

 

"Please, don't make me hurt you again."

 

The voice is cold, yet shaky and scared. High pitched, and still so frightening to hear. Hank freezes completely. He doesn't know if he should either return to the bed like a good boy, turn around slowly or try to attack the man. All of the options seem fucking bad to him, and no matter what choice he would make, Hank would fuck it up because of who he was as a person.

 

"Get back to the bed. Please."

 

 

 

The person's voice was ... heartbroken. It sounded like he was crying, or had been crying for the past hour at least. Hank felt something press harder against the back of his head and he complied. He slowly let go of the leash and walked back to the bed. He sat down in the middle of it, and finally, dared to look at the doorway.

Hank shouldn't have been so surprised to see Connor standing there. But he was surprised to see the young man holding his gun, pointing it towards him. Hank's mouth fell open and he struggled against the cuffs without any positive results. He feels panic rising in his stomach all the way up to his brain, making every bit of him feel tight and uncomfortable. "What the fuck?" he muttered and once again started pulling from the leash. Hank didn't show it, but deep inside he was panicking. He had to get the fuck out of here. 

Connor seemed quiet, awfully quiet. He just kept pointing the gun at Hank, finger on the trigger, ready to pull and fire. Hank Anderson decided to just calm down and inspect him. Connor was wearing a white shirt and jeans, over them a grey hoodie with holes at the end of its sleeves. He had dark eye bags and his hair was messy, like Connor had not slept at all. His hand was shaking and he just looked sad and defeated. He looked a lot like Hank, if he was just young and handsome, and fucking crazy in the head.

 

"Just put the gun down, Connor", Hank said calmly, lowering his hands onto his lap. The man seemed to jump a little when Hank said his name, realizing how bad things have got when Hank even knew his name. But Connor didn't move or freak out, he only bit down harder onto his bottom lip. Hank swallowed nervously.

"Let me go and I promise nothing bad will happen", he continued, trying to calm his stalker down, but their hand only shook harder. Hank knew he was lying, but he was also losing his patience. Soon, he would start yelling and would try to escape or attack, and that's when he would get shot and die. Hank let out a deep, exhausted sigh and shook his head. So far, Connor didn't seem dangerous. He just looked like a child who had no idea they were holding a dangerous firearm. 

What Hank wanted to know is why this all was happening now. Why was he attacked now? Why not before, or later. How the hell did Connor come to him, right after he had found his secret? Well, there would be no answers unless there were some questions first.

"Care to at least tell me why you're doing this?" Hank asked bravely and he lifted his face up, blowing some of his silver hair out of his face. Connor still seemed quiet, but his hand lowered, just a little. He looked around nervously, a clear drop of sweat falling down from his forehead.

 

Then, he swallowed and licked his lips.

"I saw you at my apartment", Connor finally says, his voice now more confident.

 

Well, fuck.

 

 

"I knew that I would be in ... trouble, once you saw those pictures. Once you saw this side of me that you were never meant to see", Connor mumbles out quietly and he takes a step closer to the bed. Hank presses himself against the pillows and the headboard of the bed, handcuffed hands over his chest. Connor takes another step closer.

"I didn't want it to end up like this", he coughs out. Hank's face goes pale. He realizes that he isn't sharing a room with a maniac, but a broken man ... who has just killed somebody. Hank sees the emotional reactions as a good sign - he could break Connor down easily, get him to confess and give up. It seemed like Connor had enough on his plate already.

"It shouldn't have went this far", Connor continued, his gun lowering slowly, red teary eyes looking right into Hank's soul. Hank swallowed.

"Okay, just calm down", Hank muttered as he realized this man, no, this crazy kidnapper was near a break down. Connor looked lost, scared, and most of all he looked broken. He looked like he was at the end of his road. His eyes were turning red and he was biting down onto his lip until it would break and bleed. Hank knew he needed to say something to change the subject, in order to calm down this stranger that has invaded his home.

"How did you get in?" Anderson decided to ask. Finally, Connor seems to relax and the gun lowers down to his side and Hank's own hands fall down over his lap.

"Your window was left slightly open. I simply climbed in."

"And my dog didn't do anything to stop you?"

"Sumo is way too friendly to be a guard dog, Hank. You know that", Connor said and moved a little closer to the bed, growing more comfortable of the situation after every second.

"You even know my dog's name", Hank breathed out heavily, his toes curling under his socks. Connor just nodded and looked at the bed. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, but after swallowing so hard that you could hear it, Connor sat down at the edge of the bed. Hank didn't dare to even move. He wanted to pull his legs close to his chest and hug them, but at the same time he was afraid a move like that would offend Connor. And he wasn't going to take that risk, not when the maniac had a fucking gun.

 

 

"How much do you know about me?" Hank asks, fingers scratching each other until they bled.

Connor let out a deep sigh and looked up at the roof. "Everything. Well, maybe not everything", he started and Hank already could tell he was not ready to hear this. "I know you wear glasses sometimes when you read. You visit this cafe near the station almost every day. You drink a lot. I also know you're a Lieutenant, which is ... impressive. You never wear your uniform, which makes me a bit disappointed."

"That's because I don't have a uniform", Hank says, then fakes a chuckle. It's not his first time having a conversation with a delinquent. Even if Hank was shit at it, he knew how to pretend that he cared and only wanted to help in order to get what he needed. But his patience never lasted for long, and that's why he was never allowed to try and talk someone out of a situation where they are about to jump off the roof with a kid. 

"Connor, just - let me out of these, okay?" Hank said, no, almost pleaded. He lifted his hands up and tried to move his hands away from each other, but the handcuffs rattled loudly and only tightened. Connor just stared at his wrists, his eyes going red again before he turned to look down onto his lap.

"No", he simply said. Then silence fell between them.

"For fucks sake, what are you gonna do, keep me prisoner until I die, huh?" Hank Anderson muttered out loudly. His patience had already ran out. "What do you want from me?"

Connor lifted his eyes at him again, now a tear falling slowly down his reddish cheek. His bottom lip was trembling and he let out a shaky breath, fingers curling around the firearm tightly. Hank almost felt bad for him. Almost.

"I just wanted to love you", Connor said quietly, his brown eyes never breaking away from Hank. Hank wasn't sure how he was supposed to feel. But he surely was shocked, terrified, and confused as hell. Connor stared at him for a few seconds before his eyes turned to look at the alarm clock on his nightstand. 05:42, flashing in red lights. 

"It's still too early for you to be awake, Lieutenant", Connor says quietly and he wipes his tear away from his cheek and slowly turns to look back at the old man. Hank bit down onto the inside of his cheek and tried to move away from the man, but it was impossible. He was trapped. Hands cuffed together, a bloody leash tied around his neck and the foot of the bed, and an unstable man sitting next to his feet with a loaded gun. Connor inched closer and lifted up his gun again, moving it around in his fingers almost playfully.

"I'm sorry, but I have to do this", he says quietly and before Hank has time to reach properly, Connor has climbed on top of him and smacked the handle of the gun against his head, knocking him out.

 

 

\--

 

 

Hank wakes up again more than six hours later with a headache so strong that it felt like someone was hammering nails into his brain. He grunts loudly, moves his hands over his head and kicks his legs around. His neck feels tight, his body feels dirty and all the way up from his toes to his hair, Hank feels like a bloody mess.

Something distracts him strongly and he stops. A smell of something quite good, if he was honest. Hank sat up, way too fast as his head was humming for a moment, but after shaking his hair around, he could finally look around without any troubles in his vision.

"Good morning, Lieutenant."

 

Connor was on the right side of the bed, placing a tray on the night table where his gun was. There was a bowl that clearly had some kind of vegetable soup on it and next to the white bowl there was a glass of water. Soup was something that Hank never ate, but apparently still had in his kitchen for whatever reason. 

"Don't call me that", Hank muttered and rubbed his head. "Sorry, I thought you would like it", Connor said quietly and inched closer to Hank, too close for his liking. Hank wondered why the stalker would think Hank liked to be called 'lieutenant' by a creepy stranger, but maybe it was a kinky thing. Hank wanted to stay away from the kinky things.

"Here, breakfast", Connor said and took the bowl into his left hand, and a spoon to another. Connor moved once again closer, buried the silver spoon into the soup and soon brought it closer to Hank's lips. Hank threw his hands around and managed to hit Connor's wrist, which made him throw the spoon against the mattress. Connor just watched as a small amount of his soup created a stain on the sheets, before he turned to pick the spoon back up and looked at Hank, his eyes dead and emotionless.

"I could kill you with this spoon right now", he threatens him, and for a second Hank feels even scared. But then, he laughs it off, a little nervously. He isn't stupid. He can see the gun, so close yet so far. He knows he could reach for it, yet he knows that as long as he is tied up, Connor would get to it first and shoot him. Hank knew being cocky wouldn't help his situation at all, so he gave up almost immediately. Annoying Connor would get him nowhere, so he came up with another plan.

He had to befriend this maniac. If he was just able to.

"Fine, I'll eat your stupid soup", he said. Now he only had to hope it wasn't fucking poisoned. Connor's face lightened up and he took some soup into the large spoon and brought it to Hank's mouth. He opened his mouth, swallowed the soup that burned his tongue and licked his lips. Hank fucking hated this already.

"Is it good?" Connor asked. Hank just nodded, and the man continued feeding him.

 

It took them good 25 minutes to finish that soup, and at the end it was way too cold to be liked, but Hank finished it all anyway. Connor didn't seem to mind how quiet it had been between them, because he had been smiling the whole time, which was probably the creepiest thing Hank had ever seen. And when the soup was over, it was time to drink all of that water that had been sitting on top of the tray. Connor brings the glass onto his lips and Hank does his best to swallow as much as possible, but Connor is tilting the glass far too much. Hank tries to choke out a warning, but then it's too late. Water falls down from his mouth down his chin, turning his beard and shirt wet. Hank coughs loudly, suffocating.

"Oops, sorry", Connor said, clearly not meaning it. He was smirking like the devil and his eyes were looking at Hank's shirt. "I guess we have to change your clothes now."

"Fuck no, stay the hell away", Hank muttered, but Connor's hands were already moving to touch him. Before he could reach the hem of his shirt, Hank's hands moved to wrap around Connor's neck. Even if he was handcuffed, his fingers still fit so nicely around his skinny neck. Hank could feel Connor's heartbeat against his fingers, and he squeezed. Connor barely moved, only looked down at him with those emotionless eyes. It was the weirdest thing. Sometimes, Connor was emotional, clearly feeling things. And now, he seemed almost cold, like a machine.

"You don't wanna mess with me, kid", Hank Anderson muttered loudly, squeezing tightly.

"Maybe I do", Connor said cockily.

Hank had all the control in his hands now. He would only have to hold a little tighter, until Connor would pass out or even die. And when Connor was out of the way, he could calmly escape and get help. He squeezed tighter. 

Connor laughed.

"Can you really kill me, Hank?" he said with a smirk. He wasn't even out of breath, nor was his face turning red. Hank squeezed even tighter, nails digging into his skin, piercing it open.

 

 

"Do you have the guts to kill me, when you can't even kill yourself?"

 

 

Hank's eyes opened wide, his throat suddenly feeling out of breath. Without even realizing, his grip loosened and in a second, Connor broke away from his grip, moved to his side to grab his gun and he pointed it at Hank, leaning down against the mattress. And only now was Connor showing a reaction, a human emotion. His breathing was heavy, eyes as wide open as Hank's, the hand holding the gun trembling. 

"How the hell do you know?" Hank Anderson asked, his voice almost as silent as a whisper. Connor didn't answer.

"How do you know?" he screamed. Connor's hand shook wildly. His eyes were teary again, and he bit down onto his lip roughly. Hank wanted to jump on him. He wanted to strangle him, kill him. But first he wanted to know why the hell was this all happening to him, and how Connor could know about that. It took several long seconds until Connor was able to answer.

"I saw you through the window, pressing this gun against your head and pulling the trigger over and over again!" he yelled, tears now falling down his cheeks, his throat scratchy and face red.

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was a hard night for Connor, and a harder night for Hank. It was his usual routine to follow Hank Anderson after work and stalk him through the window. But one night, not too long before Connor's first murder, Hank was in the kitchen. He looked sad, devastated, dirty. He was looking down at something, a picture perhaps, and in his hand he was holding a gun. Hank had stayed still for several minutes, until he lifted his hand and pressed the gun against his head. Before Connor could even scream in horror, Hank pulled the trigger. 

Nothing.

After that, Hank just let out a sigh, got up and moved to the bedroom.

Connor had done everything to forget that image and just pretend nothing had happened.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hank frowned at him, blood boiling in his body as he closed his eyes and let his head fall down. He didn't want to talk about this. Not with this person who was keeping him hostage. 

"Hank, you need help", Connor muttered.

How dared he to pretend he cared, right after ... not caring.

"No, _you_ need help", Hank muttered back at him. Connor lowered his gun slowly, his head falling down too. Slowly, Connor climbed out of the bed, moving the gun behind his back and stuffing it inside his pants like he had seen someone in movies do it. He then moved to take the cutlery and the tray and moved out of the bedroom. He walked towards the door, and right before turning towards the kitchen, he stopped and looked over his shoulder.

"We could help each other."

 

 

_No, we couldn't._

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

Hours pass and Hank is getting so bored, he might just die. Connor has left him alone for hours, and Hank couldn't tell if it was a good thing or a bad thing. He could hear Connor in his house, mostly watching the television. But there was a possible chance that he was using the sound from the TV to muffle the other sounds he was possibly making. Maybe he was doing something else. A bomb. Traps. A plan to dispose of Hank's body.

Another hour passes and Hank is growing exhausted. He has tried to escape, but he is far too weak to be able to move this bed. How in the hell was this bed so heavy that he could barely move it? 

 

He has no idea why he is still awake, or alive. He has no idea why he isn't screaming his lungs out until he would lose his voice. He just wanted to give up.

And his dick felt like it was going to split in half.

He couldn't believe he was going to do this.

 

 

"Connor!"

 

 

Hank Anderson could hear someone fall down onto the floor in the living room. Then, he could hear steps coming towards the bedroom. Quick, unsteady steps. And with no time wasted, Connor is at the doorway, looking at Hank with a surprised look. "Y-yeah?" he said quickly. 

"I need to use the bathroom."

"Are you sure?" Connor asked, tilting his head. Hank let out a deep sigh. "Yes, my cock is fucking aching", Hank said and blew some of his silver hair out of his face. Connor seemed to be flustered by the thought and he took an awkward step back, trying to run away from the situation. 

"My lord, Connor, do you want me to wet myself? Just, let me piss and you can point the gun at me if that's what turns you on. I won't try anything", Hank almost pleaded, wiggling his legs around a bit, trying to hold it in. 

My god, he wanted to kill himself right there and there.

Connor didn't answer him. He moved over to the bed and knelt down next to the leg where the leash had been tied to. He ripped open the tape around it and took the leash in his hand. He stood up, and took out the gun that apparently was still placed inside his pants - such an unpractical place for a weapon -, and he pointed it at Hank. "Move then", he said. Connor tried to act tough, but right now, he just looked like a teenager trying to act like a bad boy. Hank didn't even wait a second. He stood up and started heading towards the toilet, pulling Connor with him. He opens the door, enters and goes to the toiler bowl and simply unzips his pants and pulls them down just enough so he can get his cock out. Connor never lowered his gun, but he looked away, face completely red.

Hank did his business, too amused by the situation. "You find this hot?" 

"No", Connor answered. 

Hank just laughed.

 

When he was done, he looked at the bathtub and the shower head, then turned to look at the invader. "I should take a shower too, since we are here", he suggested. Connor literally jumped from that, almost scared, flustered, face completely flushed red.

Hank's plan was going great so far. All he had to do is to pretend that he was alright with being with Connor and maybe, just maybe, he could get close enough to steal the key for the handcuffs. If the key even was in one of his pockets. The other choice was to play nice as long as possible until someone would come and get him.

 

 

 

 

 

To Hank's surprise, his plan was actually working and moving forward. 

And here he was, taking a shower, only a curtain between him and the maniac holding the gun.

 

Hank had never thought washing your body would be so hard when your hands are handcuffed and there is a bloody leash around your neck. He thought that he could do everything, no matter what, but once again he had been proven wrong. It was awkward, but just something he needed in order to 'befriend' this crazy ass, make him think that nothing bad was going to happen to him. Hank needed this killer to trust him.

Anderson washed his body the best he could, taking a shampoo bottle that was nearly empty in his his hand and he squirted some of it into his hair, rubbing it all over. He couldn't hear much when the water was falling down right over him, muffling the voices and sounds around him. But something in him told him that Connor was nervous, and breathing heavily. If he focused, he could hear that breathing near him.

Even if he was completely naked, tied up and taking a shower, right now felt like the perfect time to connect with Connor. Like this, he wasn't really able to attack Hank unless he really was so crazy he would interrupt Hank's shower time. And thanks to the curtain Connor couldn't see his face.

 

 

"You didn't want to kill that girl, did you?"

 

Hank is sticking his head out of the water, but he can't hear any answer. He continues washing his body, until he is sure he is ready and turns the shower off. Silence falls so deep in the bathroom that the water drops still falling against the bottom of the tub echo around the room. 

"Did you hear what I said?" Hank asked again, raising his voice. "Yes", Connor answered him after a few long seconds of silence. The curtain was pulled back a little and Connor offered a towel for him. To Hank's surprise, Connor wasn't trying to peek at his nude body. Hank could not help but respect that. He took the towel and started drying his body the best he could, careful not to slip and knock himself out again. Silence falls between them, but Hank can feel small tugging at the collar. He wonders if the man is trying to get his attention or if he was playing with the leash nervously.

"How did you know?" Connor asks, his voice quiet and unsure. Hank shrugs, for no reason at all as Connor could not see him.

"You were scared about it, shocked. Just figured a part of you didn't want to do it", Hank Anderson suggested. He was so close. He was so close getting that confession, and he didn't even need clothes to do it. He dried his body carefully, making sure he was completely clean before wrapping the towel around his hips. He doesn't open the curtain yet - Hank waits, until he hears Connor say something, and he almost has to wait for a full minute before even a sound comes out of the perpetrator. 

"I didn't mean to kill her. But I couldn't stop myself."

There it was.

"How so?" Hank asked, nervously tugging at the towel on his waist, the handcuffs rattling against each other.

"I was angry."

 

Hank just wished he was recording this, but just hearing a confession was enough for now. He smiled, pleased with the progress he has made.

A part of him wanted to kill Connor right there and there. He could simply jump against him without even removing the curtain and beat him until he was unconscious. Hank was planning all kinds of escape routes in his head, but something always told him to stop and wait. Maybe he could help Connor, somehow, if it was even possible anymore. Connor still just seemed like a person who had made the biggest mistake in their life. A part of Hank just wanted to help him get to the right path. But another part of him just knew that Connor was much more dangerous than he appeared to be. Hank was quite lost with his thoughts, and he could not tell what choice would be good to make and what not.

He wished to defuse these overprotective feelings.

A part of him wanted to save Connor. 

Another part wanted revenge.

 

"Why were you angry?" Hank Anderson asked.

"Because she - she was flirting with you, she touched you!" Connor yelled out. Hank wanted to smile when he realized he had broken the man down, Connor's voice all shaky and worried. There was a clear lump in his throat as Connor kept sniffling and swallowing like he was suffocating under water.

"Connor, I'm not your property", Hank said strictly, testing the waters. He wanted to see how far he could go. He wondered if he could make Connor so anxious that he would give up, let Hank go and surrender to the police. Well, that was something Hank was hoping would happen. But things were never that easy, were they?

"No, I didn't mean - I just", Connor mumbled, but he got no clear words out of his throat. 

"Mm, yeah, yeah", Hank muttered back at him. "You're just fucking nuts."

"No, I'm not", Connor insisted. Hank could hear him stand up and stomp his foot against the floor. "I'm not crazy!" he yelled.

 

 

That was the moment Hank knew it was time to step in, and hard.

Hank Anderson grabbed the shower curtain and moved it to the side, exposing himself to Connor and stepping outside of the bathtub. Connor froze completely and just stared at Hank's body with wide eyes and a completely white face, expect for the cheeks that were glowing red. Only a towel around his waist, hair still damp from the shower and shampoo, Hank steps closer him, handcuffed arms holding his towel up. Connor swears he is popping a boner in seconds - he could not help but adore Hank and his body. His face sculpted to resemble God, his body made to be soft for your touch. Connor just loved his stomach, a bit round, a line of hair going down below the rim of the white towel. Soft spots everywhere, handles Connor wanted to grab and tug at. 

Connor realized his tongue moved over his lips hungrily. His mind kept wandering everywhere it could. He wanted to touch Hank all over, feeling where he felt soft and where hard. He wanted to move his lips everywhere in his body, just taste every bit of him until he was satisfied.

But Connor was never satisfied.

"If you're not crazy, then please tell me, what is the sane reason to commit murder and keep me tied to the bed like some dog?" Hank asked. He lifted his hands higher in the air, right in front of Connor's eyes and he tried to pray his hands apart but the metallic lock kept them tied together. He lowered his arms back down again, looking down at Connor with the meanest look he could give.

He noticed that Connor was holding onto the gun tightly, but it was pointed towards the floor.

 

Connor loved how Hank looked like with that collar on. He loved how slightly tight it looked and how the leash was a bit sticky against his plump body. Blindly, Connor's hand reached for it, fingers wrapping around the leash and tugging at it. Hank was pulled closer, and he let out a surprised sound.

"I did it all for love, Hank", Connor said. The gun clicked.

"I have no other choice. I don't want to be separated from you any longer", he continued and slowly moved the gun up and pressed it against Hank's stomach. Hank froze completely, eyes looking down at the barrel of the gun burying itself into his skin, then moving back up to look into Connor's eyes. Eyes that just screamed 'I am not sane, not anymore'.

"This is not the way I wanted things to go to. You were never supposed to know about this side of me. We were - we were supposed to get to know each other, go on dates, fall in love", Connor listed quickly, mouth curving into a defeated smile.

"Fall in love? How could you ever love someone like - ?" Hank shouted, but then stopped himself as quickly as he realized he was talking about himself, instead of Connor. Connor was the crazy one here, not him. He sighed. "I think it's far too late for anything to happen between us."

Connor held back tears and pressed the gun deeper into his stomach. "Never say never. I won't give up on you. Not yet", he whispered, eyes falling down to look at Hank's hairy chest, unable to look the older man in the eyes. Hank wanted so badly to move his hands up to Connor's face and make him look right at him, but the gun pressing against his stomach scared him. Russian Roulette or not, his life was in danger.

"Why are you doing this?" Hank Anderson stuttered out, shaking his head in small disbelief. He couldn't understand why this was happening to him. Him, out of all people. He wanted to ask why Connor was stalking him out of all the people and not someone more handsome, pretty and polite. He wanted to understand why Connor just stalked him, instead of making the first move. Who knows, maybe Hank would have accepted it.

"Because I love you. I care about you, I want to be with you", Connor spit out, words coming out faster than his tears. His hands shook strongly and his eyes started turning red from crying. Hank Anderson bit down onto his lip strongly and shook his head.

"No. If you cared about me, you would have done something that night! That night when you saw me pressing that same gun against my head. You should have done something. But no. You only watched. If only watching me is your way of showing love, then I don't want it", Hank said coldly. 

Connor lifted his face up. First, he looked sad, heartbroken and depressed. Then, sudden anger came. His eyes were burning like fire, bottom lip trembling, hands clenching into tight fists.

 

"How dare you deny my feelings towards you, like they mean nothing at all."

 

Hank was ready to be shot. Instead, he got a strong punch in the face. He stumbled backwards, suddenly hitting contact with the bathtub and falling back inside it, hitting his head against the wall. Hank cursed loudly. Always hitting his head against something.

All Hank could remember was Connor coming closer to him, looking down at him with such eyes that Hank was sure he was never going to wake up again.

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

Hank wakes up during the night. Or at least he thinks it's the night. And he is all alone. He cannot fall asleep as his backside hurts. He is laying on the bathroom floor. The leash on his neck has been tied around the fucking toilet. His head is aching like hell and it takes several minutes for him to get back up again.

He has been laying on his back. The towel isn't wrapped around his hips anymore, but was only placed over his private parts, which was a clear hint that at some point, his towel had probably fallen and exposed his body to Connor. Which made Hank feel extremely uncomfortable, but he didn't feel unclean. He didn't feel like someone had touched him. The only thing he could feel was the horrible ache in his brain telling him that his skull was probably cracked open by now. His stomach growled loudly, in need of some food.

Hank turned to look to his left and saw ... everything he exactly needed.

There was a pillow and a blanket, that for some reason had been just put next to him. He saw a plate, full of that same soup again, the smell of it still strong as hell but the food clearly colder than it was hours ago. Next to it, there was a book and Hank's pair of glasses on top of it. 

Hank looked at the bathroom door. No light came under it. Definitely locked.

He ate his stupid soup in silence, read his book under the lightning that was too bright for his eyes, and finally fell asleep, this time with a pillow under his head and a blanket over his nude body.

 

 

\--

 

 

The next time Hank wakes up, he has already lost his sense of time. He has no idea how long he is sleeping, if he is sleeping for few hours only or sleeping like a bear during winter. He has no idea how long Connor has kept him in here. But the next time he wakes up, there is a new book next to him, a pile of clothes and ... more fucking soup. He dresses up on a pair of shorts and a grey t-shirt, and starts reading the new book, even if he has read it before multiple times and then just lies on the floor and tries to understand what is happening.

Clearly it's a test. Or a punishment. Either way, Hank now lived in his own fucking bathroom. 

Maybe Connor was trying to seduce him. He was acting all caring for him, even if he had locked Hank in his own bathroom, tied to a toilet. But this was clearly a way of Connor trying to say 'I care for you, so you better believe it'.

So Hank was ready to play his game.

 

 

More hours pass and this time, the bathroom door opens when Hank is awake. Connor looks a little shocked when he sees Hank sitting against a wall, and Hank has to admit he is surprised too. Connor is wearing Hank's hoodie, a clear hint of his gun in his pocket. He is holding a tray in his hand and this time, Hank can see actually some good food on its plate. Spaghetti. And just for him, there was a beer bottle. It felt like heaven for Hank.

"Wasn't expecting to see you awake. How are you feeling?" Connor asks ever so calmly, like nothing bad had ever happened between them. Hank shrugs.

"My head hurts, I'm sleeping on the bathroom floor, my hands are cuffed together and I am tied next to the toilet bowl. So I'm feeling just ravishing", Anderson comments and makes the brightest smile he can fake. Connor seemed to get a little upset about his words and he pouted his lip. "I was ... kidding, Connor. Joking", Anderson says. He decides to try and pretend to be his friend. His body was far too weak to do much else, anyway.

Connor smiled. "Oh, right, sorry."

He put the tray down onto the floor and offered the plate of spaghetti for Hank, who eagerly took it and started eating it like he had not eaten in weeks. At least this time Connor wasn't trying to feed him. Connor sits down right in front of Hank and just stares at him as he eats. Hank would try to ignore it, but Connor is already so close that he has to look up and raise his eyebrows at him.

"What?" Hank muffles out, mouth full of food. Connor closes his eyes and smiles.

"You are just so beautiful."

 

Hank dropped his fork loudly against the plate in surprise. He couldn't understand why. Why someone who was this handsome, yet still a little crazy, could find a drunk old man like him beautiful? It was odd, something that Hank did not understand at all. "How?" Hank asks. Connor seems a little confused by the question and hums a little as an answer, tilting his head to the side like a dog. 

"How am I ... beautiful?"

Connor thinks for a while. "Well, the moment I met you, I finally felt something", he starts. Hank raises his eyebrows at him, but continues eating his meal as quickly as possible.

"When I bumped into you, I suddenly felt something I had never felt. All my life, I've been quite emotionless, but when I saw you, I felt ... everything. And I wanted to feel more emotions", Connor said, placing his hand over his heart as he spoke with his eyes closed. Hank thought his words were quite poetic.

Connor opens his eyes and looks around a little nervously, like he is about to say something he was ashamed of. 

"Hank, all those pictures you saw in my apartment, I ... It was just my way of dealing with these new emotions. I never wanted to hurt anyone. I never wanted to hurt you."

 

Now this was a tricky situation.

Once again, Hank is collided between two possible choices, two possible ways to go. The first part tells him that Connor is bluffing, pretending that he was innocent. Hank kept yelling at himself to attack whenever possible, get the gun and shoot Connor in the head, and then just get away. Connor wasn't save to be around.

The second part thought that Connor was telling the truth. That he in fact loved Hank Anderson with all of his heart. He had committed a crime because of it, but was he truly dangerous? Another part of Hank wanted to take things calmly with him and simply get Connor arrested so he could get the help he needed.

And all those things Connor said about him made Hank Anderson feel ... warm. 

Loved.

 

 

Hank Anderson decides not to answer him. He eats the rest of his food in silence, refusing to look back up at Connor. Connor lets out a sad sigh and his head falls down onto the floor. He whispers Hank's name quietly, but Hank doesn't react to it. After he has eaten, he places the empty plate back on top of the tray and leans back against the bathroom wall. Connor inches a little closer.

"Hank, I know about your son."

The comment comes completely out of blue, and Hank has no time to react to it. He can only look at Connor with tired, yet stunned eyes, unable to say a word. Hank can't say he is going to be surprised if Connor knew everything about him by now. After all, Connor had all the control in his house now. He has probably looked all kinds of secrets even Hank didn't know about. Anderson simply let out a sigh and he reaches for the beer bottle and opens it, bruising his own thumb in the progress.

"I saw the picture of him in the kitchen. Car accident", Connor said.

"I know how my son died, Connor", Hank muttered and took a long sip from his drink. God, he had missed this poison. 

Connor bit down onto his bottom lip. "I just want you to know that I'm very sorry for your loss. I can't even imagine how hard it must have been for you."

Hank Anderson doesn't want to think about it. He wants to move on from the tragedy. He secretly even wants to forget about Cole completely. Maybe he wouldn't feel this hopeless if he just never knew he had a son in the first place. Hank closes his eyes and drinks heavily from his drink, swallowing as much as he could. He soon popped the bottle away from his mouth and took a deep breath, almost gasping for air after such heavy drinking.

 

 

Almost silently, Connor gets up and he moves to sit next to Hank. He gets down, way too close for Hank's liking and before Hank has time to even protest, Connor is leaning his skinny body against his soft one, head pressing against Hank's shoulder.

"Connor", Hank mutters out, but his voice only comes out as a quiet whisper. His heart speeds up suddenly, but he tries to calm down. Fingers moving around the half empty bottle, feeling the surface, Hank ends up thinking about escape plans again. He could smash the bottle against the ground and stab Connor with it. Or he could just hit Connor in the head with it. Or he could throw all the alcohol in his eyes and reach into his pocket where Hank's favorite toy was.

But instead, he just sat there, looking down at Connor.

"I know it's too late for us", Connor whimpers, then sniffles loudly. "I can't be with you anymore, now that you know everything. Of course, we could ... run away together and start a whole new life, but I don't think you want to be with me like that."

Hank can feel Connor reach his hand over to him. The younger man is cuddling against his side, his hand rubbing Hank's arm, slowly moving towards his wrist. Hank watches as Connor's fingers move over the handcuffs, feeling how cold the metal was. Hank already had horrible marks on his wrist because of them, the ache and sting almost impossible to ignore, but now when Connor was so close, all the pain in his body disappeared.

"Please, let me just ... enjoy this one moment with you. Before it's too late", Connor said quietly and moved his fingers over Hank's, feeling them. Hank could hear how heavily the younger man was breathing, how just a simple touch like that melted him completely. For a whole minute, Connor simply moved his fingertips around Hank's hand, softly pressing over the nails, knuckles, veins and bones. Feeling his rough skin, feeling the hair that laid on it, embracing the warmth that came from it. Hank swallowed and closed his eyes, as he decided to move his hand to touch Connor's hand back. Just that made his heart jump, his body starting to sweat completely and his legs shook a little. He pressed their palms together, hands flat against each other, before he moved his fingers past Connor's skinny ones, and entwined their hands together. Connor's hand was a bit sweaty and somehow ice cold, the complete opposite compared to Hank's warm hand.

Hank Anderson felt nervous, and he could not tell if it was because of what they were doing or because he was sitting next to a killer, holding hands with him. Or maybe it was the thrill of both, and somehow, for a moment, it didn't feel that bad. Hank slowly turned his head slowly towards Connor, who waited for a few seconds before he rubbed his cheek against his shoulder. And then, Connor looked up at him with those slightly teary large eyes, lips softly parted. 

Hank had never really noticed how pretty Connor really was. He could see his own reflection on Connor's eyes, and he could already feel the man's breath huff against his beard. Connor was moving in closer.

 _Turn away_ , his mind yelled at him. _Turn away and do not kiss him. The fuck is wrong with you._

But Hank couldn't.

And he didn't have to.

 

 

 

 

Connor moved away from his face when the bathroom door creaked and someone peeked inside. Hank looked over and saw his dog, Sumo, let his tongue fall out of his mouth as he almost ran towards him. Hank gasped, smiled and laughed as Sumo came to his other side and laid down next to him, moving his head on top of Hank's thighs. "Hey, buddy, how are you?" Hank asked, voice as quiet as a whisper as he rubbed Sumo from behind his ear. Sumo let out a satisfied sound and wagged his tail a little, before relaxing completely, almost falling asleep.

Connor let out a sigh and leaned his head back against Hank's shoulder, hand holding tighter onto his hand, fingers pressing against each other so hard their palms turned red.

 

 

 

"I wish we could start all over again."

 

Hank wasn't sure if Connor meant about starting their almost-kiss again, or starting their story completely over. Most likely it was the latter one.

"Me too, kid", Hank muttered quietly. Connor closed his eyes completely shut as a tear fell down his cheek. He sobbed loudly, but only for a moment as he started gasping for air, calming himself down so he could speak.

 

 

 

 

"I'm going to die, aren't I?"

 

 

Hank didn't want to answer that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> blehhhh


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone else enters the house, and things turn messy. The end is near, or is it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TBH, I don't really like this story. I started it as simple one shots, but then I started adding a strong plot to it without planning it much, and at the end it ended up being a mess. So, not one of my best works, but I didn't try to make it the best either so it is what it is.  
> I'm still super glad for all the support I've got from this, and I want to thank you all.

Hank wakes up in his own bed, feeling quite comfortable compared to the feeling when he was sleeping on the bathroom floor like a pet. Instead of a rock hard floor, there is a soft mattress under him and his backside has never felt better. He opens his eyes, just for a second, and sees the sun light peeking through the window. It's morning, or maybe even day. Hank doesn't really care. He feels extremely comfortable. It was nicely warm and his body wasn't aching so much anymore.

He remembers what had happened last night. He remembered holding hands with Connor and just sitting on the bathroom floor with him, thinking about how fucked up their lives had become. Hank tried to think what had happened after that. Minutes of just complete silence, hands getting sweaty together, Sumo snoring loudly. Then, right as Hank was about to fall asleep, Connor had released him, helped him to stand up and go to bed.

Hank didn't bother to open his eyes just yet. He can feel the collar still around his neck, and something moving around his body, so he suspects he is once again tied to the bed's leg. He can also feel pain in his wrists, so handcuffs were still there.

Slowly, but surely, Hank Anderson gets back to the real world and opens his eyes, first for a second, then two seconds. He listens carefully and he can hear Sumo snoring somewhere near his feet. Hank moves his feet around and then he accidentally kicks the dog a little, but Sumo doesn't react much to it.

Finally, Hank starts realizing that there is something keeping him on his side like this. Something is laid over his right arm. Probably the reason why he couldn't feel the whole limb. He finally forces his eyes open.

Connor is cuddled up close to him, sleeping peacefully between his arms. 

Hank panics a little. 

His handcuffed arms are around his skinny body, pulling Connor close to him. Hank could still see the man's sleepy face, his hair a complete mess, standing out everywhere. Connor looked surprisingly peaceful when he slept. With his lips slightly parted and his calm breathing, it was hard to tell you were looking at a murderer. Connor was pressed almost completely against him, leaving barely any space between them. Connor's hand were pressed against his own chest, and Hank's round stomach was completely against Connor's flat waist. Their legs were tangled together.

Everything felt suddenly hot.

Hank felt his face go red, and he didn't want to know why.

 

He tries to get away, somehow break free, but it just feels impossible without waking up the younger man. He tries to lift his arms up, but Connor muffles something and snuggles closer. At the end, Hank gives up and just keeps his hand around him, accepting his defeat.

Hank can't help but wonder how he got there in the first place. But right now, he is far too tired to deal with it, and he falls back asleep again.

 

 

\--

 

 

The next time Hank wakes up, he can smell the delicious smell of food. He gets up slowly, rubbing his forehead with both of his hands before looking at the night table on his right. A clear plate of macaroni and cheese stood there next to a beer and a glass of water. Connor is of course sitting at the edge of the bed, smiling at him. Just for a moment, things seemed calm and quite nice, actually. Like they were a couple in a romantic movie that was so cheesy you could taste it.

But this wasn't a romantic movie. It was a horror movie.

Connor was still a killer, no matter how nicely he acted.

"Good morning, Hank. It's 17 minutes past eleven, so I decided to cook something a little heavier", Connor said. He was wearing different clothes again - a white button shirt with small blue flowers printed all over it. Hank's shirt.

Hank Anderson was far too hungry to care about what Connor was wearing. He had not been eating enough food lately, so the moment he got the plate in his hands, he started eating, swallowing the well cooked meal down his throat. Connor chuckled and happily watched as Hank ate. Sumo was still on the bed by Hank's feet and he eagerly watched his owner eat, hoping to get some snacks too.

"I took Sumo for a walk today. Don't worry, it was very early, no one saw me", the younger man said. Hank just nodded to that. _Alright, that's ... fine, I guess_ , he thought to himself. Connor took a glass of water into his hand and offered it to Hank, who decided to not complain about not getting a taste of his beer first. He drank a little from it, before offering the drink back to Connor who laid it back on the night table. 

"You also had four calls and eleven messages on your phone."

Hank stopped eating and laid his fork down. "From who?" he asked slowly. Connor looked at him and raised a brow.

"One message from a contact that you have named 'stupid boss', and the rest from 'prick Gavin'. Let's hope they won't bother us anymore", Connor told him and took a comfortable seat on the bed, reaching his hand over Hank's legs over to Sumo, giving him a few rubs on the back. Hank swallows heavily. This was his chance to escape. If he could just get to his phone and quickly text that he was being held hostage, he could get help.

"Maybe I should text them back?" Hank suggested. Connor's head turned so fast that it almost scared Hank. "You know, if I don't text them back they - they will come here and search for me, right?"

 

Connor looked at him silently, his face completely emotionless. Then he smiles. "That's right. You should inform them you're staying here for a little while."

Connor gets up on the bed and leaves the room, soon returning back with Hank's mobile phone. He hesitates a little as he gives it to Hank, and when Hank finally has the phone, he starts texting. Connor is sitting by the bed next to him. He can't see the phone screen, but he carefully watches as Hank types out what he needs. Anderson swallows, and comes up with a plan.

"I'm feeling a little sick today", Hank speaks out what he is typing out loudly. "I will call you in a few days when I feel better", he then says. He sends that message, then quickly types out 'SOS', makes sure it sends before he deletes that message. Connor watches him intently.

"Aaand ... send", Hank says, pretends to press the send button and then gives the phone back to Connor. As Hank had suspected, he looks at the messages and then smiles. "Good", Connor simply says and he leaves the room to put the phone back where he got it in the first place. Hank lets out a shaky breath, and he almost prays to a God he doesn't believe in that someone is coming to help him.

 

 

\--

 

 

Few hours pass. Hank has eaten well yet he still feel emptiness in his stomach. He feels disheveled, and more importantly, he feels nervous. He is even anxious over the message he had send. He had expected help to be here in the first hour, but nothing. And soon, Hank was ready to give up. He started believing that no one was going to help him.

Connor seems to notice that he is feeling down. He steps inside the bedroom and Sumo just looks at him before the dog knows something is up, and he gets out of bed and leaves for the living room. "You seem to be feeling down", Connor says, his voice echoing evenly into Hank's ears. Hank chuckles.

"Well, I'm not exactly feeling up to the roof when I'm tied down like a zoo animal", Hank says bluntly and shows his shackles to the person who put him in them. Connor just smiles, then he laughs and looks down at his feet, toes curling against the floor. He then lifts his head up and slowly walks to the bed. "Maybe I could help you feel a bit better."

 

And suddenly, Connor climbs onto the bed, but not in the way as Hank was expecting. Connor moves his left leg over his body, straddling on top of him, incing so close that Connor's crotch was pressed against Hank's stomach. The old man doesn't breathe, nor does he move. He silently stares, and swallows. Connor takes a comfortable seat, before he shyly looks at Hank. He gives the man a coy look, before he giggles loudly and lets his head fall down, some of his dark brown curls falling over his face. 

"I'm sorry. I'm still so bashful with you, even after everything I have done", the young man says and brings his head back up again. He then finally dares to move his hands on Hank. He slowly presses his hand against his round stomach, first just feeling it, then moving his hand side to side.

"Connor", Hank says quietly. He holds his breath for a few seconds, before letting some air out. Connor loved the feeling of his stomach moving under his hand. Hank's stomach moved out heavily, then back in, Connor's hand moving with it.

"I will stop, if you just say so", he whispers quietly and moves his other hand also on top of Hank's stomach, and starts trailing it up, towards his chest. He pressed his hand down on top of the spot where the heart was, and he closed his eyes. Hank swallowed again, finding his throat suddenly dry. Connor smiles for a moment, before he drags his hand higher and presses his thumb against Hank's neck, under his Adam's apple. He presses it down, hard enough so he can feel the beating of Hank's heart move against his finger tip. Connor laughs a little.

"It's beating so fast", he admires. "Listen to mine, too."

Connor doesn't grab Hank by his handcuffs and guide his hands over to his neck. No. He waits until Hank moves his hands himself. Anderson swallows nervously and waits a few seconds, before he dares to move his hands up over to Connor's slender neck. He presses his thumb down at the same spot, and just listens, feels. He can feel Connor's heart beat jump against his finger, a rhythm that sped up when Hank touched him. Hank looked up at him, and found himself swallowing again. Connor lets out a heavy breath, half-lidded eyes looking down at Hank, and he shakes a little under his touch. His thighs tremble against Hank, his crotch pressing a little harder against him. Connor feels like he is burning up.

Connor starts leaning down, towards Hank, and Hank can't help but turn to look away. Almost like he was shy. Connor notices this, but because he doesn't hear Hank saying 'no', he leans closer, slowly pressing his head against Hank's cheek. His beard tickles him, and Connor lets out a heavy breath with a mouth curved into a small smile. He presses his face a little harder against Hank's cheek, almost snuggling against him, before Connor trails his nose towards the man's ear.

Hank lets out a heavy breath, his hand lowering over his stomach, knuckles pressing against Connor's ribs.

 

 

"I thought you said it was too late for us", Hank mutters out quietly. Connor stops for a moment, his mouth pressed right against Hank's ear. He lets out a soft hum.

"I know", he whispers. "But ... Just a little."

Hank gets chills all over his body.

 

 

Connor's mouth trailed down Hank's neck, lips just gently touching his skin, before pressing down, giving soft kisses again and again. Hank hissed and closed his eyes, fingers curling, heart drumming faster. Connor's left hand still slowly rubbing his stomach, his other hand moves to Hank's shoulder, grazing down his arm. He presses his lips down harder and sucks in. Hank moans.

"Connor", he says his name again, but leaves it at that. He doesn't push away, or try to choke the man. He doesn't even say no. He just lets it happen, like Hank was testing how long he could take it. Everything felt so hot, so sensitive, and Hank was sure he might as well pass out.

" _'If only watching me is your way of showing love, then I don't want it'_  ", Connor said against his skin as he leaned closer to Hank, his hunched posture curving over Hank's body, moving so close that Hank could feel the other man's body heat.

"That's what you said. So, I'm only taking your advice here", he continued and pressed his face against the curve of his neck. Hank let out a soft hiss, shifting his position under him.

"I'm showing my love in a new way."

After those words, Connor sucked onto his neck a little harder, tongue swirling over the spot where a hickey was going to bloom. Hank gasped for air through his teeth and shut his eyes harder. He shifted under the man again, feeling how his stomach bumped against Connor's lower body. Connor gently pressed his teeth against Hank's skin, first just pressing them down, until he bit down a little into his skin and pulled. Hank moans, then hisses. He can't believe he moans because of this. Connor seems to moan too, like it was a reaction or he was just so satisfied that he couldn't help himself. Connor plants one more kiss over the marks before he pulls back. He moves both of his hands to cup Hank's cheeks and turns the man to look at him. Hank opens his eyes and looks up at him. He looks up at those eyes that told him Connor wanted to fornicate with Hank. His eyes, half-lidded, full of lust. Connor leans in closer.

If Hank could just close his eyes and pretend he was blind, he might just do this. Connor moved so gently and touched him so lovingly that Hank almost forgot what the man truly was. Almost. Contradicted by his own emotions, Hank found his rough calloused hands on Connor's hips, pressing his fingers down onto his skin. Connor leaned against those hands, his hips rolling against him. Connor's face was so close to his, both of them able to feel each other's heavy breathing. 

Connor closed his eyes.

Hank didn't.

 

 

"Connor, you need to leave."

 

 

 

 

Connor immediately pulled back and looked down at Hank, his face pale expect from his cheeks that were glowing red. Then, Connor seemed to relax and his face just screamed disappointment. "Alright, I'll go check on Sumo", he mumbles. He is lifting his leg up, when Hank puts his hand over his thigh and pushed it back down. Connor almost falls on top of him and looks at the old man, confused.

"Connor, just go. Leave. Before this gets any worse", Hank mutters.

"Hank, I don't understand -", he starts but Hank shushes him.

"Shut. Up. I texted for help. Someone is gonna come here soon. If you don't leave, you're gonna be arrested, or worse, killed", Hank warned him, strictly looking at the skinnier man. He wasn't sure why he tried to protect Connor. Maybe he felt sorry for him, even if it was sick. Or maybe just now, even if it was hard to admit, Hank had completely melted under his touch, and that had made him believe Connor wasn't as bad as he seemed to be.

Connor stared at him quietly, mouth slightly parted open.

"I know."

 

 

 

Connor suddenly sits right on top of Hank's legs, hands moving behind his back. He lifts his white t-shirt up, revealing some skin and then he reaches into his pants. He flinches suddenly, and Hank tries to peek what was behind his back. Connor slowly pulls out a knife, a large, sharp pointed kitchen knife he had been keeping hidden behind his back. Connor rolls the knife around in his finger, holding onto the handle that had been below the hem of his jeans. Connor rubbed his lower back, like he had hurt himself, before returning to look at Hank.

Hank Anderson took his words back. Connor might just be beyond help. 

"Do you think I'm an idiot, Lieutenant?"

Hank shakes from those words, literally, like it's suddenly freezing in the room. Connor moves the knife dangerously close to him, pointing it towards Hank's stomach. "This ... Gavin started texting you quite a lot, asking if you were alright of if you were ... kidnapped", Connor explains, dragging the knife towards Hank's chest. "I only figured you had somehow told him what was going on."

Hank swallows strongly when the knife is placed over his shoulder, the curve of the sharpest part of it gently pressed against the side of his throat. He closes his eyes and doesn't say anything, and Connor leans closer to him. 

"First, you ask someone to come here and arrest me. But then, you're advising me to run away. Why?" Connor asks, leaning closer to Hank's face, keeping the knife still near his neck. Hank doesn't answer, and only looks away. Connor leans right over his ear. He appears to be smirking.

"Do you want to protect me, because I'm the only one who has shown interest towards you in years?"

 

Hank Anderson doesn't answer, but he does turn to look at Connor and gives him an angry look. Connor just smirks. His free hand moves up to caress Hank's hair, fingers getting tangled in his silver locks. "It seems like you do have a soft spot for me", Connor coos and wiggles in closer. Hank raises his handcuffed hands and lays them on top of Connor's chest. Connor shakes from that, blushes, and lets out a weird sound that was far too close to a moan.

"I'm not kidding, Connor. Get the hell out of here", Hank says strictly. He swallows, when he can feel the knife press against his neck a little more, and he leans away from it. Connor moves his other hand to grab Hank by the leash, and he pulls, hard. Hank grunts as he is yanked closer to him, and he feels small aching and burning at the side of his neck, a strong ticklish feeling working as a sign that the knife had accidentally cut him. Connor moves the knife away and moves some of Hank's hair behind his ear, out of the way.

"Oh, I cut you", Connor says quietly. Hank clenches his hands, his fingers tugging at Connor's shirt. He leans in closer, once again buries his face in the curve of Hank's neck and suddenly he moves his tongue out and licks. He drags his tongue over the scar that wasn't deep enough to bleed, but deep enough to break the skin. Hank shivers and he moans, once fucking again, his hands grabbing strongly at Connor's shirt. Connor wraps his lips over the scar and he sucks in, roughly, deeply, until there would be a large hickey around it. He grinds his groin against Hank.

"For fuck's sake, Connor, I ain't playing! If you don't leave now someone will -"

 

 

 

'Enter the apartment', was the way Hank wanted to end his sentence. But something else caught his attention.

 

 

Someone actually entered the apartment.

 

 

Both of them stop and freeze.

 

 

"Be quiet", Connor says and points his knife at Hank. "Or I will kill him."

 

 

Hank has no choice but to keep his mouth shut.

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Hank? Wakey wakey!" Gavin Reed yells as he enters the apartment. To his surprise, the front door wasn't even locked, which seemed odd, but after all he knew Hank was an alcoholic so he didn't bother himself too much about it. Gavin enters the apartment, closing the front door behind him and he looks around. He was expecting to see the apartment completely trashed - beer bottles on the floor, pizza boxes piling up, trash cans full. He was expecting to find Hank in the living room, passed out, unwashed and binge watching bad movies. But everything was the opposite. The whole house was clean, so clean it was suspicious. 

Sumo walks up to Gavin, wagging his tail happily. He gives a lick to his hand, and Gavin jerks away from the dog. "Ah, get away, you hairy bear", Gavin mutters and starts heading towards the bedroom. He moves slowly, prepared for everything, even if he knows he will most likely find Hank sleeping in his bed.

"Hank? Get your drunk ass back to work -"

 

Gavin finally stops at the bed room's doorway and sees Hank. But something is wrong, very wrong. Hank's hands are handcuffed together and he has a leash around his neck, like a dog or a submissive who likes BDSM. Hank is looking at him with a horrified expression. His face is pale, his hair completely messy, and Hank is wearing a pair of shorts and an old dirty t-shirt. Hank looked like shit, like he was a homeless person, but something else gets Gavin's attention.

Hank looked fucking terrified.

 

"Hank, what the hell is this bondage shit?" Gavin laughs a little, but walks over to the bed, moving his hands over to Hank's neck as he tries to free him.

"Gavin, for fuck's sake, watch out!"

 

 

 

 

 

 

Everything beyond this point had degenerated into a fine fucking mess.

 

 

 

 

 

Connor strikes the knife deep into Gavin's neck, and blood starts spurting out strongly. Hank closes his eyes when blood hits his eyes and cheek, but soon he has to open them again, just to see if it all really happened or if it was just a sick dream.

It was real more than real.

Gavin's face is turning pale, his mouth opening wide as his right hand reaches towards Hank, begging to be saved. Connor pulls the knife out, then strikes it down again, this time near his Adam apple. More blood flows out, over Hank's face and body, then onto the sheets. Connor twists the knife, skin ripping open loudly, everything in the room turning brightly red.

Hank can't believe his own eyes. He can barely breathe. 

Everything is falling apart.

Gavin tries to kick around, his hands trying to attack Connor somehow, but soon his body relaxes and falls cold. His eyes are left open as Connor drops his body down to the ground, next to the bed. Pool of blood is taking over the floor, wetting Connor's socks. Hank is gasping for air loudly, peeking over the edge of the mattress to see his coworker's body. He shuts his eyes tightly. He feels like he is going to throw up.

The worst thing was that Connor once again climbed onto his lap, but this time he was covered in blood, holding a knife.

 

 

"Jesus Christ, Connor, what have you done?" Hank breathes out slowly and looks up at him. Connor doesn't answer. His dead cold eyes are looking down at Hank, unforgiving, silent and emotionless. Hank looks back at them, his own living eyes meeting those robotic lenses.

Hank swallows.

"Connor?"

Connor stays quiet, before finally a tear falls down his cheek. He lifts the knife up, holding it over his head.

 

 

Hank is begging for him to stop, to think about this for a while. He is holding his breath, hands hovering over his stomach, ready to try and stop the knife if it ever would move down. Connor let's out a violent sob.

"I have to kill you too", he mutters. "It's too risky to let you live."

"Connor, no. You don't have to do this, you're only making your list bigger", Anderson tries to turn him around, hopelessly of course. Connor chuckles and smiles.

"Aren't you caring. Are you in love with me or something?"

Hank looks up at him. Connor is smiling, holding the knife up that is slightly shaking, ready to kill Hank any second now. A clear sign of a maniac, someone who was beyond help. But his eyes. His eyes were red, teary, and something was hidden behind them. Fear. Hank couldn't help but feel sympathy for him. Even if he had been tied to the bed like a pet and fed like a rabbit, Connor still seemed so much like a ... human. He just looked like a young man who had committed the biggest mistake of his life, because he didn't know how to control these feelings he has never had before.

Hank hates himself for thinking like that. He hates himself for feeling pity for a murderer, a stalker. Especially when he just saw someone die right before his eyes.

He hates himself for thinking Connor deserved protection, just because he liked Hank. And Hank wished he could like him back.

"No. No, I'm not", Hank answer his question quietly. 

Connor bites down onto his lip. His hands shake harder, eyes piercing into Hank so strongly. 

Connor strives the knife higher, ready to strike it down.

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Stab, stab, stab._

_Connor imagines killing Hank, stabbing him over and over and over again. He can see his dead cold face leaning to the side and his body covered in deep stab wounds - 28, to be exact. He can see the blood taking over the bed and how Hank's eyes still are looking into his soul even after he has stopped moving._

_In his imagination, rose petals start coming out of Hank's mouth and suddenly, the blood is replaced by them. Gavin Reed's body is no longer there, Connor isn't holding a knife, no one is dead. It's just him and Hank, surrounded by the petals that are so tender, so easy to break. Just like they were easy to break._

_Hank takes Connor into his arms. Suddenly, they are both nude, holding each other, mouths leaning closer to each other. They kiss hungrily. More rose petals surround them, and Connor finds himself moaning._

_It's everything he has ever dreamed of._

_Connor wants that._

_He can't have it if Hank is dead._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Connor pulls the knife away and he sobs. "I can't. I can't do it", he mumbles out. He is wiping his tears away, lowering the knife and soon stepping away from the bed. He almost slips over the blood but soon he continues his way out of the room and into the bathroom.

"Wait!" Hank yells after him, but the door closes and he is left alone.

Long minutes pass and Hank has no idea what to do. For twenty minutes at least, he is just sitting there, trying to not fucking puke, trying to not faint. Trying to somehow survive this situation. At one point, he is brave enough to get out of the bed, but he isn't as lucky as Connor. He slips and falls, hitting his body roughly against the floor. He grunts, gets up on his knees and looks down at Gavin's body.

It's a disgusting sight, and not just because it's Gavin. His neck is completely bloody, clear stab wounds showing what was hidden underneath the skin, his expression cold and still horrified. Hank knows it's far too late to try and help him, so he leaves him. Instead, he goes through his pockets. Maybe, for his luck, Gavin had a gun.

 

 

 

Gavin doesn't have a gun. He is as useless as Hank thought, and he wished he would have texted someone else.

In what world does 'SOS' mean 'I don't need help, but come check on me anyway without any kind of protection?'

 

 

 

He still keeps searching, hoping to find something helpful. Gavin does, in fact, have some kind of a weapon at least. He has a bloody pocket knife, which will work just fine. Hank also finds gum and a pair of keys in his pockets, but decides to leave them, for now. 

He hears the bathroom door open and Hank quickly turns around, the knife firmly in his hand. But he freezes completely when he sees Connor exit.

 

His naked form is almost glowing under the strong yellow light that peeks out of the bathroom. Bones were sticking out, moles tattooed onto his skin to create star signs that didn't exist in the sky. His shoulders were relaxed, no longer touching the bottom of his ears but laid down as a sign of trust and confidence. Connor's bony fingers were twitching, dancing around and his toes were curling against the floor so hard there would be marks left. He seemed to be trembling a little, like he was getting used to the cool air. Connor' eyes were wide open, but only for a second, before they relaxed and became once again completely empty, out of emotion.

Connor's whole body relaxed. His fingers stopped moving, feet relaxed, hips leaning to his right side. His breathing was heavy, strong clear movements bringing his stomach out, then in.

He is still holding the knife, but now his body and the weapon are completely clean from blood. 

He was no longer freezing. He felt warm, then hot. 

The look on Connor's eyes yearns for more blood shed. Mixed with the insanity, there is lust, sloth and every other deadly sin and more. 

Connor's whole body language screams that he wants to be fucked right over that pool of blood.

 

 

"Hank Anderson", he calls out to him. Hank just stares at him, covered in blood, kneeling on top of a pool of it, a knife as his only protection. He is completely tied down. Connor is completely nude, and he also has a knife, and he has the upper hand. Hank is nothing when his hands have been handcuffed for so long the blood barely reaches his finger tips.

Connor takes a step closer, then another one.

"Do you love me?"

 

 

Hank doesn't answer. Neither does he move.

He calculates every possible choice and outcome like he was a machine. He could run towards Connor and stab him, end him, become a murderer like him. But Connor's knife is bigger, and Hank is tied to the bloody bed. He would die immediately. He could try to run away, but the leash isn't helping him much. And where would he run in the first place?

He could say he loved Connor back. But deep inside he knew that it wouldn't be the right choice. 

Even if he wanted it to be.

Hank ends up staying completely quiet. He stares at Connor, completely dazzled by the scene in front of him. They stare at each other for long, before Connor lets out a sad sigh and simply walks towards the living room. Hank finally allows himself to breathe, but he finds himself unable to move. He just looks down at the floor, but then the blood is flowing into his vision and Hank is inching away from Gavin's body, moving towards the doorway to escape it.

"I'm so sorry, Gavin, you stupid fucker", he grunts at the corpse.

 

 

It doesn't take long when Connor is standing back at the doorway, and Hank is raising the pocket knife once again. This time, Connor is fully dressed - he is wearing a brown jacket and a black beanie, and he looks like a complete different person. Hank doesn't know where he got those clothes, but he also doesn't care. He has been sleeping for hours and he has spend most of his time in the bathroom and in his bedroom, so he was not gonna be surprised if Connor had been running personal errands.

Connor moves his right hand into his jacket's pocket and takes out a pair of keys. He wiggles them in his hand like a bell, and Hank immediately knows what it is.

Keys to his handcuffs.

"I'm going to leave these here", Connor says quietly and he drops the keys in front of the bathroom door, too far for Hank to reach. Hank wants to say something sarcastic, but he finds his voice almost completely gone. Connor starts stepping towards Hank, wearing a pair of combat boots Hank once used, until they became a size too small. Connor moves the knife and presses it against Hank's neck again and he crouches down, coming down to Hank's eye level. 

Hank could stab him right now. He could strike the pocket knife deep into his throat, and he would do it, knowing that Connor wouldn't hesitate to kill him too. And for a moment, Hank is completely okay by dying.

But another part of him wants to end things in a better way. He wants to survive this mess.

"I'm truly going to miss our time together, Hank", Connor says so calmly that he truly seems insane. But then, there are tears again, and he is once again a book that is impossible to read.

 

Connor seemed to be a perfect mix of sanity and insanity. Hank was no doctor, but sometimes he could see humanity in Connor that sometimes got shut off when his much darker side took over. And it was the most horrible thing he has ever witnessed. Sometimes Connor was the most dangerous person in the world, but sometimes he just looked like a helpless boy that Hank wished to help.

He was like the most talented artist in the world whose works were not appreciated. A dead body with a golden ring, hidden under the dirt and sand. A broken reflection of a healthy man. 

The perfect mix of beauty and corruptness. 

A complete mystery.

Hank hated it.

 

 

Connor leans down and lands a kiss on Hank's forehead. Hank doesn't fight back. He doesn't dare.

"I'll leave you alone now. You will never see me again", Connor says. His voice is almost heart broken. 

"Where are you gonna go?" Hank is able to stutter out. Connor raises his eyebrows and moves close again to press his lips against his forehead, the knife still far too close to Hank's neck. 

"Away. I'll go get my things from my apartment, and then I will disappear", he says quietly, clearly, like it was a hint. Connor stands up and he steps back into the hallway, peeking towards the living room.

"That's what you wanted, right? For me to run away?" Connor says and looks at Hank directly into his eyes. Hank bites down onto his lip. He doesn't know. He doesn't know. For now, he is completely fine by letting Connor run away and never show his face again. 

He just wanted to leave this all behind and get rid of these feelings.

 

"I promise that I will come back for you."

Hank doesn't like the idea of that. Connor knew where he lived. He knew everything. Hank didn't want to be stalked on like some prey. He gives Connor a strong look that screams 'no, no fucking way', but Connor ignores it.

"I think I'll take your car, as a last memory of you. Don't worry, I have fed Sumo, and there is food in the fridge. In case you'll figure how to escape", Connor explains, and moves the knife away, taking a step back. Hank chuckles. "You sound like my wife", he mutters out, spinning the pocket knife carefully in his hand. Connor seems to freeze from those words, but this time he doesn't get flustered, nor does he blush.

"I could still be that, if you let me", Connor says. And when Hank doesn't answer him, the young man leaves. Sumo barks. The front door opens and closes. A car starts up, and drives away. Silence takes over.

 

 

 

 

Hank moves the pocket knife over to his collar and starts cutting the leash the best he can. The knife is sharp, so he gets it started, and he moves the blade against the leash as strongly as possible to get himself out. He strikes up, and he strikes down. Then, he is tearing. _Rip_. The leash breaks, and Hank is free. He drops the pocket knife onto the floor and rushes towards the bathroom. He takes the key from the floor, his fingers shaky as he bends his wrist as much as possible to get the key inside the hole. He twists it to the side, the handcuff opens. And Hank breaks free.

He rubs his wrists before he gets up on his feet that shake under his weight and he stumbles into the bathroom. Hank looks at himself in the mirror, his reflection showing how dirty he was and how he had dark eye bags under his eyes. Blood was covering his face. His coworker's blood was all over him. He ignores it and starts twisting the collar around his neck to get the lock open. He rips of the duct tape that was over it, before finally being able to open the buckle. He throws the collar on the ground and sighs. 

He is free. 

Fucking finally.

 

 

Hank allows himself to breathe for a few seconds, before he forces himself on the move. He doesn't bother cleaning up, but he does bother changing his pants into jeans and hiding his blood covered t-shirt under an open jacket. 

Hank's first instinct is then to go back to Gavin's body. He takes the knife from the floor and places it into his pocket. He then reaches into Gavin's pocket and finds the keys again. Most likely his car keys. He takes those too, before he keeps searching.

A phone.

Hank knows where to call immediately. He presses the buttons quickly, and soon he is yelling into the phone, telling his home address and saying there has been a murder. No need for ambulance. Gavin Reed is far too gone. Hank is walking towards the front door, yelling into the phone all the way, making sure he has everything he needs. He doesn't have his gun. Most likely Connor took it with him. But he has a knife, and a vehicle.

He pets Sumo before he leaves the building.

"Please stay put, sir, help is coming your way", the voice on the other side of the line says.

"No, I'm gonna go after that fucker. He kept me prisoner for God knows how long, and he killed my coworker", Hank mutters into the phone.

Hank Anderson is not gonna let Connor go away, until he knows this will all be over. No more stalking, no more pictures taken. No more killing. No more innocent victims dying because of him. Because of Hank.

He blames himself, like he blames himself for everything.

"You know what, just fucking come over here, see the body yourself. Then, come to this address -", Hank starts talking into the phone. He enters Gavin's car that is much better than Hank's own car, completely clean from the inside. He tells the address where Connor lives and he starts the car. 

"Sir, what is going on?" the person on the other line asks. Hank stops for a moment.

 

"I'm going to kill the man who fell in love with me."

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

Hank Anderson is driving so fast that he almost drives over someone and causes a few car crashes. But he doesn't care. He has to go fast as possible, so he can get caught up with Connor. His hands are rubbing against the steering wheel. His foot stays far away from the brakes. His blood is boiling, he feels livid. And at the same time Hank has never felt so sick.

He has to stop Connor. He truly wanted Connor to just escape and start a new life, he truly wanted that for him. But he didn't want to be a part of this anymore. If Connor was going to come back for him and kill more innocent people just because of Hank, then he had to stop him.

He finally drives in front of the block of flats, and doesn't bother parking the car right. He sees his own car close by and knows Connor is still here. Hank stumbles out, knife in his hand and he runs inside. He remembers the stairs and how many he had to take before he would reach the right floor. Hank passes some people, almost knocks then over, shouting a few apologies before he continues climbing the stairs.

He runs to the apartment door. The door is open.

"Connor!"

 

Hank is about to enter the apartment, but a shot fires and a bullet hole marks the door. He jumps from that and moves behind the wall to get cover. Connor had Hank's gun. He shouts Connor's name again, but he hears no answer. He can hear Connor breathing heavily, panicking. Almost crying. 

Hank peeks inside, but then another shot fires and he draws back. He then can hear Connor turn and run somewhere. He sprints inside the apartment. Hank sees a figure running to the left and he goes after it. Connor is extremely fast - the moment Hank catches up, he is already getting out of the window, stepping outside and moving into the fire escape stairs. Connor looks behind him and sees Hank, and for some reason, instead of running the stairs down, he starts moving them up. Hank follows, having slight trouble getting through the window. He stumbles onto the rusty stairs that shake and creak under their weight, but without much hesitation, Hank starts climbing the stairs, going after Connor, sweat and tears taking over his body, his breathing so heavy he was sure he was going to have a heart attack soon.

He reaches the rooftop. It's a large dance floor made out of stones and bricks, a few chimneys standing in a row near the edge. Hank sees Connor running, a large backpack on him, a gun in his hand.

"Connor!"

 

Connor stops. He is standing right at the edge of the building, looking down onto the ground. He then looks up and admires the view. The city is alive, the night is young. Tall buildings, old and new, are covering the view all the way to the horizon. Flashing lights of neon are blinking, windows open, creating the most beautiful view of the city you could imagine, far from a rustic aesthetic. People were walking outside, enjoying their life, pretending the world wasn't ending. The sky was colored in vibrant saturated colors - glowing orange on the horizon, that slowly turned into yellow and suddenly pink. The rest of the sky was a mix of purple and dark blue, and the clouds looked like cotton candy. The moon was seen, half of it glowing in the sky.

A beautiful evening.

A perfect time of the day for dying.

 

 

 

"You came back for me", Connor mutters silently and turns around. He holds tightly onto the pistol, but doesn't raise it, not yet. He takes a step closer to Hank, who immediately raises his pocket knife and points it at Connor.

"You said you wanted me to escape. But here you are, coming after me", Connor says and he takes another step closer. Connor suddenly smiles, moving even closer to Hank who doesn't back away. "Does this mean you changed your mind? Do you want to be with me, after all?" he asks, his voice so bright and hopeful. Hank grunts. 

"I can't let you go, if you're gonna come back and kill more innocent people because of me", Hank says strictly, holding tighter onto the knife. Connor stops, his smile fades away. He looks utterly disappointed by Hank's answer. If his heart was made out of glass, Hank was sure he could hear it shatter into pieces. 

"I need you to promise me you will never come back for me", Hank mutters.

Connor tilts his head to the side, then closes his eyes and shakes his head. "I can't promise you that, Hank. I love you too much", he comments, barely any emotion in his voice. Hank hates it when Connor confesses to him so easily, like the meaning of love meant nothing to him. But he still got weird aching in his stomach whenever Connor said he loved him, and he didn't know how to feel about it.

"But, I can promise not to kill anyone, as long as they don't try to come between us", Connor continues.

"Ah, Jesus Christ", Hank curses and looks away, shaking his head. "You're fucking crazy", he shouts at Connor. 

"And you seem to enjoy it", Connor comments, and moves closer once again. This time, Connor lifts up the gun and aims it at Hank who freezes. But he doesn't surrender. He points the knife at Connor even harder.

 

"Why couldn't you just keep stalking me? Or come talk to me, for fuck's sake!" Hank yells out. Connor looks shocked. His face goes pale and it looks like he feels flustered, hand shaking a little, body squirming from those words.

"Why'd you gotta kill someone?"

"I don't know, I don't know! I wanted more than just watching you!" Connor yells out and now holds the gun with both of his hands. Finally, Hank sees that uncertainty in him, that fear behind Connor's mask. "I don't know why I killed them. I was just angry, I didn't mean to."

Connor looks lost and frightened, and once again Anderson is thinking about the possibility of Connor being sane, instead of crazy. Or at least having a little of his sanity left.

He can't help but feel bad, when Connor's eyes get teary.

"Why, Connor? That's all I ask", Hank breathes out heavily. "Why didn't you come talk to me?"

 

Connor lowers his gun, his expression completely dazzled from those words. He seems to think for a while, before muttering 'I don't know' again. His head falls low, looking down at the ground and for a moment, he seems to be progressing Hank's words.

"Wait", he quietly mutters. "You wish I had come talk to you?"

The moment Connor lifts his head back again, Hank is right in front of him. Hank moves his hand into a fist and punches Connor right into his jaw. Connor stumbles back, curses and holds onto his face that is burning in pain. He lifts his gun towards Hank, but the Lieutenant is much faster. He grabs Connor by the wrist and twists. The pistol falls down onto the ground. Hank takes a better hold of his knife, makes his hand ready to attack if needed. Connor kicks Hank into his stomach as hard as he can, and air leaves his lungs. He drops the knife like an idiot, and doesn't move to pick it up. Anderson lets go of Connor and backs away, holding his stomach.

"So that's what this is about?" Connor shouts at him. "You wanted me to come talk to you. You wanted to love me back! What is holding you back now, Hank?"

"You're a killer, that's what", Hank yells back at him, eyeing at the gun on the ground at the same time.

"I did it all for you", Connor says and he starts reaching for the gun. Hank runs towards the younger man, wraps his hands around him and pushes him against the ground with all of his power. They collide down and Hank loses his grip on Connor. He takes his chance and climbs on top of Hank, moving his hands around Hank's neck, squeezing.

 

 

"So, is that why a part of you still wants to protect me? A part of you loves me -"

"Shut up", Hank coughs and kicks his legs around. Connor presses his whole weight down and squeezes harder.

"You want to love me. You just tell yourself you can't, because I have blood in my hands", Connor shouts at him. Hank punches the younger man to his side and he coughs. Hank grabs tightly onto Connor, rolls around and now he is the one on top him. His other hand wraps around Connor's neck while the other one grabs him by the wrist and presses it against the ground. Connor just laughs.

"You liked it when I loved you", Connor chuckles. Hank turns pale, biting into the inside of his cheek.

"You think no one can love you anymore because you're a suicidal alcoholic. That's why you want to protect me. You're flattered that someone looks past your imperfections and only loves the real  _you_ ", he chokes out, his smile never leaving his face.

"Don't analyze me", Hank mutters and squeezes tighter and moves himself between Connor's legs. He should have never helped Connor. He should have killed him when he had the chance. But he was too afraid to do it. He can't even kill himself. If he had attacked Connor when he had the change, Gavin Reed wouldn't be dead. Gavin was dead because of Hank. That girl was dead because of Hank. It was his fault for finding sympathy towards a murderer that loved him.

And he sure as hell wasn't ready to fall in love with someone who has killed a person right in front of his eyes.

"I know you feel something towards me, Hank, don't deny it", Connor said. He tried to wiggle free, tried to grab onto Hank but he only choked Connor harder and slammed his hand against the ground until it would leave bruises. Connor only laughed like a maniac.

"Last night, you held me in your arms, Hank."

"Shut the fuck up", Anderson mutters. He squeezes harder, but Connor only coughs a little to get his voice back to normal.

"I didn't snuggle between your arms myself. You pulled me close, half-asleep, pulling me down with you", Connor told him and Hank realizes his hold on him loosens. He doesn't believe him. It can't be true. He knows he would never do that. Yet still, a part of him knows he is lying to himself.

"Stop it", Hank mutters. Suddenly, Connor gives him a strong kick to his side, then immediately a punch in the neck. Hank chokes and he draws back, holding onto his throat and gasping for air. Hank rolls down onto his side, gasping for air and his eyes find the knife on the ground, close enough for him to reach. Connor is standing up slowly, only coughing a little before he looks down at Hank.

"You didn't push me away, Hank. That has to mean something."

 

 

 

Connor starts walking towards Hank, his hands molded into tight fists and he is about to grab Hank by the collar, but the older man is much faster. Anderson quickly rolls towards the knife that had been dropped on the ground and he holds it tightly inside his fist. Then, Hank kicks himself up to his feet and grabs Connor by his jacket's collars. He starts pushing Connor near the edge of the balcony, pushing him with all of his strength. Connor is grabbing Hank by the wrists, punching and scratching at them, but Hank never lets go.

And then, they are both standing right by the edge, so close to falling to their death. Hank straightens his arms and leans forward as much as possible, and Connor looks down, horrified when he sees how far down the street is. He tries to keep his legs straight and steady so he doesn't slip and fall, and his hands are holding onto Hank's wrists, begging to be pulled back to safety. His head keeps tilting to his right, as Hank's other hand still has the pocket knife in it, and the sharp point of it was dangerously pointing towards Connor's neck.

"Enough talk", Hank grunts at him so hard his teeth are visible. "You will either leave, or die. Make your choice."

Connor just looks at him for a moment, before he lets go and spreads his arms open. He almost falls, but Hank pulls him back just a little, refusing to let go. Connor laughs at that.

"You can't kill me, Hank. I know you can't", Connor says to him. And he is right. Hank's head fells down and he curses loudly. His hands are shaking for some reason. He wants to let go. But he can't bring himself to end a human life. Not this particular human life.

"Kill me, or kiss me. You make _your_ choice", Connor says, intimidating Hank. Anderson lifts his head up and looks at Connor.

"I'm not a killer like you", he almost whispers.

"Kiss me then."

 

 

 

 

Hank doesn't love Connor.

 

He loves the way Connor loved him, even if it turned into shit.

 

He loved the feeling of being loved.

 

And he wanted it so badly. He wanted to be loved so badly. Hank wanted to know he was worthy of it.

 

Connor was the first to offer it, and he would have taken him so fast, if the time would have been right.

 

If their love wouldn't have ended in bloodshed. 

 

 

He hates Connor for fucking up their relationship before it even started.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hank pulls Connor close to him and he crashes his lips against his, teeth clacking together uncomfortably. His heart skips a beat as he tastes Connor's mouth and he is immediately out of breath. Connor's eyes open wide and he muffles against the kiss, but soon he relaxes and his eyes close peacefully. Connor answers the kiss eagerly - his lips are the first ones to start moving, and he kisses Hank tenderly, lovingly. His hands move to cup Hank's cheeks, other one slowly trailing behind to play with his grey hairs. Hank doesn't go as gentle as he does. He kisses Connor hungrily, his left hand letting go of his collar and quickly moving around his waist, pulling the skinny man close to him.

Connor swears he is in Heaven. His legs feel like they are breaking under him, and his hands feel shaky. Yet, his hands strongly wrap around Hank, behind his neck and he presses himself close against Hank's body. Hank feels so warm against him, and Connor would love to stay there for the rest of his life. He finds himself moaning a little against the kiss, wanting more. He carefully tries to enter his tongue into their warm embrace, his cheeks starting to burn wildly.

Hank Anderson finds himself sweating, shaking and trembling when Connor deepens the kiss. And he allows it to happen. He moves in deeper, hands wrapping strongly around Connor's fragile body, holding onto him tightly.

Everything feels just right, just for a moment.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_I could have loved you. I wanted to love you._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_I think I do love you, and I hate myself for being so weak for your affection._

 

 

 

 

 

_"Kill me or kiss me."_

 

 

 

 

 

 

_I will do both to be satisfied with my choices._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hank moves his hand and strikes the pocket knife into Connor's stomach, fast and quick. Connor chokes against the kiss. He twists the knife around, then pulls it up a little. He can feel the blood flow out of the wound over his fingers and the tip of his shoes. He can taste the strong metallic liquid in his lips. Connor's hands tighten, nails digging against Hank's scalp, pulling at his hair. Connor is banging his other hand against Hank's backside, and he is muffling and coughing against the kiss.

Hank can feel tears touching his own cheeks. He pulls away and looks at Connor. Eyes half-lidded, blood flowing down from his bottom lip to his chin, face as pale as the snow.

His eyes are glowing red and Connor lets out a violent sob, swallowing down blood that tries to come out of his mouth.

 

 

 

"I do love you. But not in this life."

 

 

 

 

 

 

With those words, Hank lets go of him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

 

There were a lot of questions when people saw Hank Anderson come back to the police station, his clothes and face completely covered in blood and a knife in his hand. It only took few hours when the whole police station knew what happened. Then the press started coming in. And soon, the whole internet was yelling about it.

They found Connor's apartment and all the pictures he had taken and all the belongings that once were used by Hank Anderson. Hank felt so empty from the inside that he didn't even feel ashamed about those pictures anymore. He did feel ashamed, when everyone was talking about how crazy it was when a handsome young man named Connor fell in complete love lust with an old alcoholic. It made him feel loveless.

The newspapers were writing about everything they heard - they wrote about Hank being held hostage in his own apartment and the death of detective Gavin Reed who had tried to help him. They wrote about Connor, the man who was long gone now.

They wrote a story that only outsiders saw. But no one knew the true story, because Hank refused to talk about it.

 

Hank was never told about Connor's body, no matter how many times he asked about it. He guessed they tried to help Hank get over this trauma and not let him know the details of what was happening. They didn't even let him come to work until Hank was surely capable of doing it. He got paid vacation for weeks, without realizing that Hank did not want vacation. His home did not feel like home anymore. Every object and room had a memory of Connor in it. And Hank didn't want to remember him anymore.

He stayed up many nights, drinking until he passed out, pressing an empty gun in his head and pretending it had a bullet inside. Always too afraid to even try Russian Roulette anymore.

Hank Anderson had nightmares. Nightmares he could not even describe. Some of them were based on the things he had seen - the horrific expression of a dying man, blood in his hands, words threatening his life. A confession of love. Some dreams were something much else, for some reason heated and passionate, yet still counted as a nightmare instead of a wet dream.

 

Hank had never been this broken in his whole life. Not even his son's death made him this messed up.

But at the same time, he felt free. 

When you have been close to dying, you learn to appreciate life more.

 

 

Hank slowly returns back to his normal life. His home still feels like a prison, his bed feels strange. He always feels like he is being watched. But he slowly gets used to it and much sooner than he expected, Hank is back to point zero, Connor now only a picture in the past.

He is spending his night the same as always - watching TV, sitting on the sofa, petting Sumo. And for a moment, he feels completely peaceful. 

He is soon getting up and going to his bedroom, falling under the covers without much caring if he brushed his teeth or not. He takes a comfortable position in the middle of the bed where he liked to be, and he lets out a tired sigh.

Hank closes his eyes and relaxes his body. And soon, he is falling asleep.

The bed feels surprisingly welcoming. It's warm and comfortable. Ever since Connor left, his bed had felt empty and hard to sleep on. But tonight, it felt just right.

Hank found himself smiling a little, snuggling closer against his pillow. 

He wondered why the bed felt so good now.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Good night, Lieutenant."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a small gift for following this (shit) story all the way to the end, I created a Youtube playlist with songs that fit this story. It has some songs from the original playlist this story was inspired from, but also some new ones! Thank you for reading all the way to the end !
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLKEHp6ih4W_aeq_1DIGFBHysSAFF9TOGu


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